The Queen of Flames (Sequel to 'The Demon of Winterfell') (On Hold)
by Kiara Biersack
Summary: Emmelyne Stark has had many different adventures. She's lost people she was close to. She's learned how to shoot an arrow, and how to swing a sword. And she's made plenty of mistakes. Originally blinded by a religion she knew very little about, Emmelyne knows the truth of the world. She knows how to survive in Westeros. But who knows if she'll make the right choices?
1. Chapter One: The King in the North

Tommen Baratheon was dead. He'd leapt from his bedroom window after Cersei had blown up the Sept of Baelor. There were no heirs remaining of King Robert- or claimant heirs- which meant that Cersei was in line to be queen.  
But this was the last thing on the minds of the Northerners.  
Jon had called a meeting in the great hall. With Sansa and Emmelyne on either side of him, an impressive collection of men before him, and an impressive fur cloak, someone looking in would've assumed he were a lord. Not a bastard who'd won a battle.  
"You can't expect Knights of the Vale to side with wildling invaders," a man was saying.  
"We didn't invade," Tormund stated. "We were invited."  
"Not by me."  
Jon stood, addressing the men before him. "The free folk, the northerners, the crannogmen, and the Knight's of the Vale fought bravely, fought together, and we won. My father used to say we find our true friends on the battlefield."  
"The Boltons are defeated," a man stated, rising to his feet. "The war is over. Winter has come. If the maesters are right, it'll be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home and wait out the coming storms."  
"The war is not over," Jon interjected. "And I promise you, friend, the true enemy won't wait out the storm. He brings the storm."  
The brought forth a cacophony of sound, men leaning over and muttering to each other. From his seat at one of the tables, Markus Waynwood offered Emmelyne a tense smile. She would've returned it, had it not been for her being distracted by Littlefinger. Petyr Baelish stood against the wall, surveying the scene the way a hawk watches a rabbit. He was waiting for Jon to slip up. To make a mistake so he could come swooping in. His dark eyes fell on Emmelyne, and she immediately looked to Lyanna Mormont, who had risen from her seat.  
The eleven-year-old had a stern look on her face. She locked eyes with a lord across from her. "Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly, but you refused the call," she said. "You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. And you, Lord Cerwyn, your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still you refused the call."  
The young girl was met with silence, so she continued her speech. "But House Mormont remembers. The North remembers. We know no king but the King in the North who's name is Stark. I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king from this day until his last day."  
The muttering began again. Emmelyne smiled at Lyanna, who looked quite proud of herself. She smiled at Emmelyne in turn before sitting back down.  
Jon's eyes darted around the room. He couldn't quite process what had just happened.  
Lord Manderly was the first to rise. "Lady Mormont speaks harshly and truly. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another king in my lifetime. I didn't commit my men to your cause 'cause I didn't want more Manderlys dying for nothing. But I was wrong. Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding. He is the White Wolf."  
Lord Manderly drew his sword, his voice rising to a shout. "The King in the North," he said, lowering to his knees.  
This wasn't what Petyr had anticipated. It was clear on his face. Emmelyne smirked at him, letting out a low chuckle. It was cruel of her to laugh at him, but, then again, being nice had never been a skill of hers.  
Lord Glover stood next. "I did not fight beside you on the field and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong and ask forgiveness."  
Jon shook his head slowly. "There's nothing to forgive, my lord," he said.  
"There will be more fights to come. House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years. And I will stand behind Jon Snow..." Glover drew his sword. "The King in the North!"  
More men rose, drawing their swords. They echoed Glover. "The King in the North!"  
It became a chant now. Sansa smiled up at Jon, who just stared at everyone. "You're a king, now," Emmelyne offered him softly.  
"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"  
Petyr and Sansa locked eyes, Sansa glaring at him.  
When the meeting was adjourned, Emmelyne began to return to her room. As she walked, footsteps sounded behind her. She turned, smiling when her gaze fell upon Markus. "Have you gotten lost in the castle?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.  
"My room is nearby, I know that," Markus replied, though he was smiling as he said it.  
Emmelyne nodded slightly. "I see. Do you the exact location of your room?"  
Markus bit his lip, continuing to smile roguishly. "No, I do not, Lady Stark. Would you perhaps be kind of enough to escort me to it?"  
The Demon of Winterfell stepped forward, taking Markus's arm and beginning to lead him down the hall. "I'd be delighted to."  
"Typically," Markus noted, "the man is supposed to lead the woman."  
"Typically woman do not fight in battles, Ser Waynwood, but look at how we first met."  
"You're not a very typical woman, then."  
"You're an extremely typical man, then."  
His blue eyes widened. "I'm typical?"  
Her gray eyes flashed mischievously. "Yes, you are. Rescuing the lady from imminent danger."  
"I only gave you my horse."  
"Yes, but you still saved my life."  
"You still almost died because you refused the maester's help at first."  
She snorted. "I was bleeding out and I'd just fought in a battle. I was delirious. You're the one who finally convinced me to accept help."  
"Fine," Markus conceded. "You're not very typical, and I am very typical."  
Emmelyne grinned. "You like being right, don't you, my lady?"  
"Of course I do."  
They reached his room, and Emmelyne waved her hand toward the door. "Here were are," she said.  
Markus bit his lip once more. "Thank you for escorting me, Lady Stark."  
"You're very welcome."  
He pushed open the door, glancing at Emmelyne one more time. That was when she stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. His lips found hers, and in mere seconds they'd stepped into his room. Markus was sure to close the door behind them.


	2. Chapter Two: A Lover and Fears

Emmelyne wasn't sure if she was in love.  
Yes, she lie in her bed, her head rested on Markus Waynwood's chest, her breathing fast but steady and her heart racing with prior exhilaration.  
But she did not know if it was love.  
Markus was quiet as they lay there. He ran his fingers through Emmelyne's hair occasionally, or sometimes uttered sweet words to her quietly.  
She knew that Markus was in love.  
He'd told her that he was in love.  
But Emmelyne did not know what her feelings were.  
R'hllor lie at the foot of the bed. He whined quietly whenever one of them moved. The direwolf at least liked Markus, and that was a good thing, as he frequently made visits to Emmelyne's chambers.  
Emmelyne and Jon... whatever they had had, that had stopped. Perhaps Markus was a replacement in the girl's mind. She did not know. The only thing she knew, was that he way a replacement, then he was an excellent one.  
Winterfell had changed from when Emmelyne was sixteen. No longer was she referred to as a whore and a witch by servants. Instead they gave her a title. 'The Queen of Flames.' She accepted it willingly, though she knew that Demon would never truly disappear. Lots of things had been replaced in the time after the Battle of the Bastards.  
She was quite sure she was pregnant, something that both frightened and delighted her beyond belief. She couldn't bring herself to find a maester. Didn't want it to be real. At least she knew that if her suspicions were true, the child was certainly Markus's. But if she did not love the father...  
Jon held meetings often. He spoke of the White Walkers. Of the Night King. Emmelyne didn't understand any of what he meant, and try as she might to see, to have a vision, it was like she'd lost her power.  
Today, there was going to be another meeting. Emmelyne chose one of her favorite dresses for the day. It was long and thick, dark crimson in color. It was a velvet material that made sure she was warm throughout the day. She finished her outfit off with the cloak Sansa had made. Emmelyne had never been good at needlework, but she'd adorned the broken wheel of House Waynwood onto the cloak.  
The topic of this meeting was dragonglass, which could be used to kill white walkers. "I want every Northern maester to scour their records for any mention of dragonglass," Jon stated. "Dragonglass kills white walkers. It's more valuable to us now than gold. We need to find it, we need to mine it, we need to make weapons from it. Everyone aged ten to sixty will drill daily with spikes, pikes, bow and arrow."  
"It's about time we taught these boys of summer how to fight," Lord Glover commented with a chuckle.  
"Not just the boys," Jon replied. "We can't defend the North if only half the population is fighting."  
Glover stood, staring Jon down. "You expect me to put a spear in my granddaughter's hand?" he demanded.  
Lyanna Mormont stood suddenly, locking eyes with Lord Glover despite their height difference. "I don't plan on knitting by the fire while men fight for me," she snapped. "I might be small, Lord Glover, and I might be a girl, but I am every bit as much a Northerner as you."  
"Indeed you are, my lady. No one has questioned- -" Glover began.  
"And I don't need your permission to defend the North."  
Davos and Emmelyne both smiled from Jon's side, and Brienne, from her seat in the crowd, did the same. Sansa held back her own smile. Lyanna looked to Jon. "We'll begin training every man, woman, boy, and girl on Bear Island," she said.  
"Aye!" the men called, pounding the tables in agreement.  
"While we're preparing for attack, we need to shore up our defenses," Jon said. "The only thing standing between us and the Army of the Dead is the Wall, and the Wall hasn't been properly manned in centuries. I'm not the king of the Free Folk. But if we're going to survive this winter together..." he trailed off, allowing Tormund to rise.  
The wildling chuckled. "You want us to man the castles for you?" he asked.  
"Aye," Jon agreed. "Last time we saw the Night King was at Hardhome. The closest castle to Hardhome is Eastwatch-by-the-sea."  
"Then that's where I'll go."  
Tormund looked at the other wildlings. "Looks like we're the Nights Watch now," he chuckled.  
Chatter broke out among the men in the hall. "If they breach the Wall," Jon continued, "the first two castles in their path are Last Hearth and Karhold."  
A lord rose. "The Umbers and the Karstarks betrayed the North," he said. "Their castles should be torn down without a stone left standing."  
Sansa spoke up suddenly. "The castles committed no crimes. And we need every fortress we have for the war to come. We should give the Last Hearth and Karhold to new families, loyal families who supported us against Ramsay."  
"Aye!" some of the men agreed, but Jon clearly was not pleased.  
He didn't look at Sansa when he answered. "The Umbers and the Karstarks have fought beside the Starks for centuries. They've kept theft for generation after generation."  
"And then they broke faith," Sansa stated.  
"I'm not going to strip these families of their ancestral homes because of the crimes of a few reckless sons."  
"So there's no punishment for treason and no punishment for loyalty?"  
Silence.  
Jon looked at Sansa now. "The punishment for treason is death. Smalljon Umber died on the field of battle. Harald Karstark died on the field of battle," he said.  
"They died fighting for Ramsay," Sansa argued. "Give the castles to the families of the men who died fighting for you."  
Littlefinger was smiling from his place against the wall. He was clearly pleased by Sansa's arguing. Emmelyne looked at Sansa, offering her a sympathetic smile. But the younger girl just rolled her eyes in response. Chatter overwhelmed the hall.  
Jon sighed. "When I was Lord Commander of Night's Watch... I executed men who betrayed me. I executed men who refused to follow orders. My father always said, 'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,' and I have tried to live by those words. But I will not punish a son for his father's sins, and I will not take a family home away from a family it has belonged to for centuries. That is my decision, and my decision is final."  
Sansa let out a huff, looking at the ground. She was done.  
Jon looked out at the crowd once more. "Ned Umber," he said.  
A young boy with brown hair and dark eyes stepped forward.  
"Alys Karstark."  
A girl with a rather square face and red hair rose as well.  
Jon ushered them both forward, and they did as told. "For centuries, our families fought side by side on the battlefield," Jon said. "I ask you to pledge your loyalty once again to House Stark, to serve as our bannermen and come to our aid whenever called upon."  
Alys was first to draw her sword, and Ned followed closely. They each lowered to one knee. "Stand," Jon said, and they did as he said.  
"Yesterday's wars don't matter anymore," Jon stated. "The North needs to band together, all the living north. Will you stand beside me, Ned and Alys, now and always?"  
"Now and always!" the pair repeated in unison.  
There were cheers and applause. Emmelyne joined in, clapping politely. Alys smiled, and Ned looked around, smiling hesitantly as well. Jon was pleased. Sansa continued to stare at the floor, Littlefinger watching her.  
After the meeting was finished, Emmelyne stepped out of the hall. Markus joined her, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger. "You're beautiful," he murmured, and Emmelyne just nodded.  
"Something on your mind?" he asked.  
"Nothing, no. I'm just worried about Jon and Sansa," she replied.  
It wasn't a whole lie. She was worried about them. But it wasn't all she was worried about. Her hand moved to her stomach, feeling it beneath her dress. It hadn't begun to grow, but she knew, deep down, that she was with child.  
Markus smiled, kissing her on the cheek before leaving for his chambers.


	3. Chapter Three: The Dead

In the Riverlands, Sandor Clegane was with the Brotherhood Without Banners. His hair, while usually long, was an untamed mess. As was the beard that was on his face. Snow blew around the cluster of men. "Bad night to be outdoors," Thoros of Myr was saying.  
"You've got real powerful magic to figure that out," Sandor said roughly in response. "Did the Lord of Light whisper that in your ear? 'It's snowing, Thoros. It's windy. It's gonna be a cold night.'"  
"You're a grouchy old bear, aren't you, Clegane? You want some rum?" Thoros offered, holding a skin out.  
"Don't like that shit," Sandor replied. "It's too sweet."  
"Why are you always in such a foul mood?"  
Sandor thought back to a question that a lovely Stark girl had asked him. 'Why are you always so hateful?'  
"Experience," he said in response.  
Many surrounding Sandor were happy to spot a cabin not far from them.  
Sandor recognized the cabin. He'd once spent a night there with Arya Stark, and robbed the man and daughter who owned it the next morning.  
"This seems like a good place to spend the night," Beric Dondarrion commented.  
"These people don't want us here," Sandor stated.  
"Seems deserted to me. No livestock. No smoke coming from the chimney."  
Beric nodded to himself, leading the party nearer to the cabin. Sandor followed reluctantly, looking around at the all too familiar cabin. "I don't like the look of it," he said.  
Thoros rolled his eyes, tying up his horse and looking to Sandor. "For a big, hard man," he said, "you scare easy."  
"I'll tell you what doesn't scare me," Sandor snapped, "bald cocksuckers like you. You think you're fooling anyone with that top knot? Bald cunt."

Thoros only chuckled. "Come on," he encouraged. "Maybe they've got some ale hidden away."  
Sandor shook his head, thinking back to the old inhabitants of the cabin. "They don't," he said.  
Nonetheless, the Brotherhood gathered into the cabin. Wind whistled through the cracks, but if they lit a fire, it wouldn't be quite as cold as the outdoors. "See if there's a larder," one of the men stated. "They always leave something behind."  
The men began making themselves comfortable, looking around the cabin. But when Sandor stepped in, the first thing he saw was two skeletons. The man and his daughter, together on the bed, the little girl across his lap. There was a knife at their side, blood still dried on it. Beric followed him, closing the door. He looked at the skeletons, then at Sandor. "How do you think it ended for them?" he asked.  
"With death," Sandor said.  
"Girl died in her father's arms. Both of them covered in blood and a knife at their feet. I'd say they were starving. And rather than let his little girl suffer, he ended it for both of them."  
"Doesn't matter now."  
"No, doesn't matter now."  
But it did, and Sandor knew it. He had been the reason they had no money to buy food. To survive. He thought of Arya Stark, shouting at him as he took their money, and he wondered where the girl was now.  
Sandor and Beric both sat, and Sandor tore into some of his food. "I've known you a long time, Dondarrion," he stated.  
"Aye," Beric said. "I think the first time we met was at that tournament."  
"And I always thought you were dull as dirt. You're not bad. I don't hate you. Don't like you, but you're not bad."  
"Thank you, Clegane. That warms the heart."  
Sandor continued, still staring at the bones. "But there's nothing special about you."  
"You're right about that," Beric nodded.  
"So why does the Lord of Light keep bringing you back? I've met better men than you, and they've been hanged from crossbeams, or beheaded, or just shat themselves to death in a field somewhere. None of them came back. So, why you?"  
"You think I don't ask myself that? Every hour of every day? Why am I here? What am I supposed to do? What does the Lord see in me?"  
"And?" Sandor pressed.  
"I don't know," Beric replied. "I don't understand our Lord. Neither did your little Stark girl, Emmelyne."  
" _Your_ lord. Not mine."  
"I don't know what He wants from me. I only know that He wants me alive."  
"If he's so all-powerful, why doesn't he just tell you what the fuck he wants?"  
Beric did not answer.  
Thoros looked at the pair from his place, where he had managed to start a fire. "Clegane," he said. "Come over here."  
Sandor looked at the flames anxiously, remembering a time from when he was a child. A time when his brother had forced his face into the fire. "Don't worry," Thoros encouraged. "The fire won't bite. I want to show you something."  
"It's my fucking luck I end up with a band of fire worshippers," Sandor stated.  
"Aye," Beric said. "Almost seems like divine justice."  
"There is no divine justice, you dumb cunt. If there was, you'd be dead... and that girl would be alive."  
"You didn't seem so upset about fire worship when you were with the Stark girl," Beric reminded.  
"She's different," was the stiff response.  
Sandor stood, moving toward the fire. "What do you want?" he demanded.  
Thoros glanced up at him. "Look into the flames," he instructed.  
"I don't want to look in the damn flames."  
"You saw me bring him back from the dead after you cut him down. Don't you want to know what gave me the power?"  
"I keep asking and no one wants to tell me."  
Thoros chuckled at that. "We can't tell you," he said. "Only the fire can tell you."  
Sandor hesitated, stepping closer and looking into the glowing red embers. "What do you see?" Thoros asked.  
"Logs burning," Sandor stated.  
"Keep looking."  
He moved slightly closer, continuing to stare. "What do you see?" Thoros repeated.  
Sandor shook his head slowly, his face shifting into one of confusion. "Ice," he said. "A wall of ice. _The_ Wall."  
"What else?"  
"It's where the Wall meets the sea. There's a castle there."  
The fire popped, sending sparks into the sky. Sandor jumped slightly, but still looked. "There's a mountain," he continued. "Looks like an arrowhead. The dead are marching past. Thousands of them."  
Beric moved to his side. "Do you believe me now, Clegane?" he asked. "Do you believe we're here for a reason?"  
Sandor could only nod weakly, a look of shock and confusion on his face.


	4. Chapter Four: Matter at Hand

Still in the Riverlands, Thoros of Myr woke to the sound of digging outside the cabin. He picked up a lantern, making his way outside to investigate.  
He saw Sandor, digging a deep hole in the not yet frozen dirt. Beside him lay two long shapes, wrapped in blankets. The skeletons. "What the hell are you doing, Clegane?" he asked.  
Sandor shoved his shovel into the dirt, picking up the smaller bundle. "Burying the dead," he replied stiffly.  
He lay the girl's skeleton gently down in the hole. "You knew these people," Thoros remarked.  
"Not really."  
He picked up the father next, laying him beside his daughter. Thoros watched as he started to bury the pair, but it wasn't long before he picked up the second shovel, joining him.  
They finished the work quickly, and the living pair was quiet for a long time. Sandor broke the silence. "We ask the Father to judge us with mercy. We ask the mother to..." he sighed, shaking his head. "Fuck it, I don't remember the rest."  
He brushed his hair out of his eyes, looking down at the crude grave. "I'm sorry you're dead," he stated. "You deserved better. Both of you."  
Sandor threw his shovel aside, stepping past Thoros and returning to the cabin. Thoros looked back at him, not speaking.  
At Winterfell, Emmelyne Stark was vomiting into a chamber pot. Her stomach was churning madly, and her throat burned which each heave. She had run from supper, the smell of meat making her feel sick to her very stomach. Jon had attempted to follow her, but was put off by Markus, who had physically pushed him back into his seat. She lied about having felt sick for a few days until the smell became too much for her to bear, and she was forced to leave. As she had not eaten, all that came up from her was burning, stinging bile. This was sign enough, and she knew it. She was with child, and that was something she accepted. When she finally finished, she moved to her bed. R'hllor whimpered, resting his head on her lap. "Did you have fun with Rickon today, R'hllor?" she whispered to him.  
The direwolf had taken to playing with Rickon in the yard, something they both enjoyed a great deal. Ghost would sometimes join in the fun, and they'd chase Rickon until the boy was screaming with joy. When the chasing was done, both wolves would tackle and lick him. He may have been twelve, but he still acted like the playful six-year-old Emmelyne had left behind when she went to King's Landing.  
She lay back on her bed, sighing softly. The churning in her stomach came to a stop, and she let out a slow breath of relief. It wasn't long before weariness overwhelmed her, and quickly enough, she was falling asleep.  
The next morning, Jon held another meeting. Emmelyne sat in her usual spot beside Davos, and she didn't look at Markus, who was staring at her intently. "This message was sent to me by Samwell Tarly," Jon said. "He was my brother at the Night's Watch, a man I trust as much as anyone in this world. He's discovered proof that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragonglass."  
Murmurs struck up among the men. Daenerys Targaryen had landed on Dragonstone, and many of them were unsure of her. It was only twenty-four years ago that the Mad King was finally killed, and many of them remembered him. They weren't keen on trusting his daughter.  
Jon raised another scroll up. "I received this a few days ago from Dragonstone," he said. "It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister."  
The murmuring grew even louder. Emmelyne remembered Tyrion. He'd been kind to her and Sansa, very kind. He'd cared about them both. Jon continued, trying to ignore the protests. "He is now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen. She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. She has a powerful army at her back and if this message is to be believed, three dragons."  
It was no longer quiet conversation that overwhelmed the men. But still, Jon kept speaking. "Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys. And I'm going to accept."  
"Accept?!" someone cried.  
Many of them were protesting, but Emmelyne offered Jon a smile. She agreed with the plan. Daenerys would be better than Cersei. She wanted to meet this Daenerys, and possibly her three dragons.  
Jon finally seemed angered by the protests. "We need this dragonglass, my lords!" he cried. "We know that dragonglass can destroy both white walkers and their army. We need to mine and turn it into weapons. But more importantly, we need allies! The Night King's army grows larger by the day. We can't defeat them on our own. We don't have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragonfire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us. Ser Davos, Lady Emmelyne, and I will ride to White Harbor tomorrow, then sail for Dragonstone."  
Emmelyne had not known of her involvement in the trip to Dragonstone, but she found herself excited. It would be a welcome change from Winterfell, and she'd see what Daenerys had done with the castle after Stannis's death.  
Sansa suddenly ruined her excitement, however. "Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?" she demanded. The Mad King invited him to King's Landing and roasted him alive."  
"I know that," Jon replied.  
"She is here to reclaim the throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those Seven Kingdoms. This isn't an invitation; it's a trap."  
"It could be, but I don't believe Tyrion would do that. You and Emmelyne know him. He's a good man."  
A lord of the Vale rose. "Your Grace," he said, "with respect, I must agree with Lady Sansa. I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen cannot be trusted. Nor can a Lannister."  
"Yeah!" the men cheered.  
Glover rose next. "Aye," he said. "We called your brother king. And then he rode south and lost his kingdom."  
Lyanna was the next to stand. "Winter is here, Your Grace," she told Jon. "We need the King in the North in the North."  
"Aye!"  
Jon looked around slowly, nodding. "You all crowned me your king. I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it because the North is my home. It's part of me, and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter odds. But the odds are against us. None of you have seen the Army of the Dead. None of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies, powerful allies. I know it's a risk. But I have to take it."  
Sansa stood, staring him down. "Then send an emissary. Don't go yourself," she argued.  
"Daenerys is a queen. Only a king can convince her to help us. It has to be me," he explained.  
"You're abandoning your people! You're abandoning your home."  
"I'm leaving both in good hands."  
"Whose?"  
"Yours."  
Sansa froze. Her expression shifted to surprise and confusion. She looked at Littlefinger, who was grinning. "You are my sister," Jon said. "You may not be the only Stark in Winterfell, but Rickon is too young, and Emmelyne would not be able to handle matters, you know that. You're the best option. Until I return, the North is yours."  
Brienne smiled hesitantly, looking at the floor. Jon nodded at Sansa encouragingly. She nodded back, accepting her duty.


	5. Chapter Five: Dragonstone

Late in the night, Emmelyne found herself wandering down to the crypt. She looked at old statues, the ones she recognized. Her uncle Brandon. Her aunt Lyanna. Her grandfather, Rickard. And then there was a new statue.  
Unlike the others, dark and old, this one was fresh. It was bright white. Emmelyne smiled at the statue of Eddard. "Hello, Father," she said softly. "I've missed you."  
She had never been close with anyone in her family. But now that they had started dying off, she knew that she should have been. She stepped slowly forward, resting her hand on the statue's arm as the tears began to well in her eyes. "This doesn't look like you," she whispered. "I don't know who carved it, but they must not have known you. It doesn't look like you."  
Stone could never do a person justice. Her father always said that Lyanna's statue didn't look like her, either. Emmelyne sat the base of Ned's statue, letting her tears flow freely. "I miss you. I miss Mother. I miss Robb."  
It would be a long list if she were listing all of the people she missed, and so that was all she said. She let her head rest on the statue's base, her tears falling on the pale stone. She lie there for a long time, finally falling asleep.  
The next morning, they were leaving for Dragonstone. Emmelyne, in a new dress and a sense of pride overwhelming her, was smiling as she made for the yard. She had a bow and arrows, just as a precaution, and she liked the feeling of the quiver at her back. "Lady Stark!" a voice called from behind her.  
She spun around, seeing Markus. "Ser Waynwood," she greeted  
He smiled at her. "Will you miss me on your trip to Dragonstone?"  
"Of course," she lied.  
Markus beamed, stepping forward and kissing her cheek. "Farewell for now, Lady Stark."  
"Farewell for now, Ser Waynwood."  
He stepped back, allowing her to get onto her horse. She rode up to Jon's side, smiling hesitantly. "Time to meet the Mother of Dragons," she noted.  
Jon nodded slowly. He looked back at Sansa, who was watching the party in the yard. She smiled at him, and they waved at each other. Emmelyne waved as well. Rickon stood at Sansa's side. He seemed upset, and Emmelyne knew he was sad to see her go. That was why she'd left R'hllor to keep him occupied. "Ready!" a man called.  
Jon and the rest of the party began riding.  
When they reached White Harbor, they boarded a boat.  
And finally, they were at Dragonstone. Jon climbed from the boat, followed by Davos, then Emmelyne. They all looked around at the Dothraki surrounding them. But then Emmelyne and Jon's gray eyes fell on Tyrion Lannister.  
He had not changed very much, save the long beard he had grown. When he saw Emmelyne, he smiled, and she did the same. "The bastard of Winterfell," he greeted Jon.  
"The dwarf of Casterly Rock," Jon replied.  
Both men smiled, stepping forward to shake hands. "I believe we last saw each other atop the Wall," Tyrion said.  
"You were pissing off the edge if I remember right," Jon chuckled.  
Emmelyne noted the woman by Tyrion's side. She was pretty, with darker skin and black, curly hair that stuck out around her head. She had a very kind face, though there was a seriousness in her dark eyes.  
Jon looked Tyrion over one more time. "Picked up some scars along the road," he noted.  
"It's been a long road, but we're both still here," Tyrion said.  
Emmelyne stepped forward, smiling at Tyrion. "Lady Stark," he greeted. "It's good to see you again."  
"Good to see you too, Lord Tyrion. What was the assumption everyone in King's Landing made when I fled at the Battle of the Blackwater?" Emmelyne asked.  
"That you and Sandor Clegane fled together. They said something about you two being star-crossed lovers. Another assumption was that you were kidnapped by Stannis. What was the truth?"  
"I left with Sandor."  
Tyrion nodded, looking at Davos. "I'm Tyrion Lannister," he introduced.  
Davos stepped up, shaking hands. "Davos Seaworth," he said.  
"Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay."  
"Unluckily for me."  
Tyrion looked at the pretty woman. "Missandei is the queen's most trusted advisor," he said.  
She smiled at him, nodding her head. "Welcome to Dragonstone," she said. "Our queen knows it is a long journey. She appreciates the efforts you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons."  
Emmelyne furrowed her eyebrows. Their small party was extremely anxious, but nonetheless, they began unsheathing their swords. "Of course," Jon nodded.  
Emmelyne slid the bow and arrows from her shoulders, handing them to a Dothraki who stepped up to her. Davos, Jon, and the rest of the men relinquished their swords as well. Tyrion smiled at Em sympathetically, knowing that they were all quite uneasy. The Dothraki lifted the boat from the water, carrying it toward the castle. "Trapped here with the dragons," Emmelyne whispered to herself.  
"Please, this way," Missandei encouraged them.  
Davos was the first to join her, followed by Emmelyne, then Jon. "Where are you from?" Davos asked her. "I can't place the accent."  
"I was born in the Island of Naath," she replied.  
"Ah. I hear it's beautiful down there. Palm trees and butterflies. Haven't been, myself."  
Missandei just gave a broad smile, nodding. She walked ahead of the three with Tyrion. "This place has changed," Davos said to Jon.  
"It truly has," Emmelyne added.  
They continued following Missandei, still. An unnerved feeling swept over Emmelyne, and suddenly, her excitement at meeting Daenerys vanished. She wanted to go home.


	6. Chapter Six: The Mother of Dragons

The path to get to the castle was a long one, but Emmelyne didn't mind. Tyrion was keeping up conversation with Jon and Emmelyne. "And Sansa?" he asked. "I hear she's alive and well."  
"She is," Emmelyne answered.  
"Does she miss me terribly?"  
Emmelyne only chuckled, though Jon's face went strangely slack. Tyrion looked at him, smiling. "A sham marriage," he eased. "And unconsummated."  
"I didn't ask," Jon said.  
"Well, it was. Wasn't. Anyway... she's much smarter than she lets on."  
"She's starting to let on."  
"Good. At some point, I want to hear how a Night's Watch recruit became King in the North."  
"As long as you tell me how a Lannister became Hand to Daenerys Targaryen."  
Tyrion chuckled at that. "A long and bloody tale," he said. "To be honest, I was drunk for most of it."  
Jon didn't answer for a moment, and when he did, he changed the subject. "My bannermen think I'm a fool for coming here."  
"Of course they do," Tyrion shrugged. "If I was your Hand, I would have advised against it. General rule of thumb- - Stark men don't fare well when they travel south."  
"True... but I'm not a Stark."  
 _Aegon Targaryen._  
There was a sudden screeching from the sky. Emmelyne jumped, her breath hitching in her throat. Jon flew to the floor. Davos followed suit. Emmelyne froze. Missandei and Tyrion chuckled. A dragon, a literal dragon, flew over them. It was a giant beast, black with wide, red wings. It's scaled skin was stretched taught like the wings of a bat. "That's only one of them," Emmelyne whispered.  
She looked at Missandei. "What's that ones name?"  
"Drogon," Missandei replied, clearly amused by Emmelyne's wonder.  
Tyrion stepped over to Jon, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. "I'd say you get used to them..." he said, helping Jon, "but you never really do."  
While Jon, Davos, and Emmelyne still stared at Drogon, Missandei and Tyrion began to walk once more. Two more dragons joined him. One was a light, grass green. His scales were flecked with bronze, and his wings were a gorgeous yellow-orange. The other was a beautiful cream colored creature, speckled with gold. "What are their names?" Emmelyne asked Missandei.  
"The green one is Rhaegal," Missandei said. "The white one Viserion. Those two are named for Daenerys's brothers."  
Emmelyne was the first to snap out of her daze, Jon and Davos doing the same. "Come," Tyrion urged, "their mother waits for you."  
And, so they continued walking, unaware of the red cloaked woman who watched them from the castle.  
Daenerys, indeed, had been waiting for them. Davos, Jon, and Emmelyne stepped into the throne room. Emmelyne and Davos, who had been at Dragonstone before, were unimpressed by the room. But Jon looked around with wonder in his gray eyes. They stepped up to the driftwood throne. Sat on it, was a woman.  
She was beautiful, and that was the first thing that Emmelyne noticed. Her long, white blonde hair was styled in braids. There was a faint smile on her pale, pink lips. Her blue eyes held interest as they fell upon the three Northerners. She was dressed in a long, black dress that looked as if it were made from Drogon's scales. The only true color she wore was a red sash around her waist. She wore the Targaryen colors with such pride. Such... power.  
"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains," Missandei recited.  
Davos hesitated, waving his arm toward Jon. "This is Jon Snow," he said.  
There was a very pregnant pause before Davos continued. "He's King in the North."  
Emmelyne took Davos's arm, squeezing it lightly. "It's alright," she whispered to him.  
"Thank you for traveling so far, my lord. I hope the seas weren't too rough," Daenerys said.  
"The winds were kind, Your Kind," Jon replied.  
Davos nodded respectfully at the claimant queen. "Apologies," he said, "I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know, but Jon Snow is King in the North, Your Grace. He's not a lord."  
"Forgive me- -" Daenerys began.  
Tyrion interjected. "Your Grace, this man is Ser Davos Seaworth."  
Daenerys continued. "Forgive me, Ser Davos. I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn I read the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestor, Aegon Targaryen. In exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen, Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. Or do I have my facts wrong?"  
There was a hint of sarcasm in Daenerys's voice. She knew very well that we was correct.  
"I wasn't there, Your Grace," Davos answered.  
"No, of course not. But still, an oath is an oath. And perpetuity means- - what does perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?"  
Emmelyne, however, was the one who answered. "Perpetuity means forever, Your Grace."  
Tyrion sighed, looking at Emmelyne, then at Daenerys. "Your Grace, she is Lady Emmelyne Stark."  
Daenerys nodded, her blue eyes meeting Emmelyne's gray ones. "The Demon of Winterfell," she said.  
"It's Queen of Flames, now," Emmelyne replied stiffly.  
The Mother of Dragons did not seem to enjoy that comment. "Nonetheless," she said. "It means forever. So I assume, my lord... you're here to bend the knee," she told Jon.  
"I am not," Jon stated.


	7. Chapter Seven: Captive

Daenerys's eyes went wide, though she tried to mask her surprise with a pleasant smile. "Oh," she stated. "Well, that is unfortunate. You've traveled all this way to break faith his House Targaryen?"  
"Break faith? Your father burned Emmelyne and I's grandfather alive. He burned our uncle alive. He would have burned the Seven Kingdoms- -"  
Daenerys interrupted him. "My father... was an evil man. On behalf of House Targaryen... I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father. Our two houses were allies for centuries, and those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms have ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity with a Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. I am the last Targaryen, Jon Snow. Honor the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name you Warden of the North. Together, we will save this country from those who would destroy it."  
There was silence for a long time. Jon looked between Davos and Emmelyne before answering. "You're right. You're not guilty of your father's crimes. And I'm not beholden to my ancestor's vows."  
"Then why are you here?"  
"Because I need your help, and you need mine. "  
Daenerys and Tyrion shared a look. Daenerys looked back at Jon, still trying to seem polite. "Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?" she asked.  
"I did," Jon replied.  
"And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me?"  
"They're hard to miss."  
"But still, I need your help?"  
"Not to defeat Cersei," Emmelyne said. "You could storm King's Landing and the city would fall to you in a day. Ser Davos and Stannis Baratheon nearly took it, and they had only armies, not three dragons."  
"Nearly," Tyrion stated, and Emmelyne was reminded of how he was the one who saved King's Landing with the wildfire.  
"But you haven't stormed King's Landing," Jon said to Daenerys. "Why not? The only reason I can see is you don't want to kill thousands of innocent people. It's the fastest way to win the war, but you won't do it, which means, at the very least, you're better than Cersei."  
"Still, that doesn't explain why I need your help," Daenerys stated.  
"Because right now, you and I and Cersei and everyone else, we're children playing at a game, screaming that the rules aren't fair."  
Sternness overwhelmed Daenerys when she spoke to Tyrion. "You told me you liked this man."  
"I do," Tyrion replied."  
"In the time since he's met me, he's refused to call me queen, he's refused to bow, and now he's calling me a child."  
"I believe he's calling us all children. Figure of speech."  
Jon seemed fed up with the needless conversation. He sighed. "Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter's over if we don't defeat the enemy to the north."  
"As far as I can see," Daenerys began, " _you_ are the enemy to the north."  
"Cunt," Emmelyne said to herself.  
"I am not your enemy," Jon stated. "The dead are the enemy."  
"The dead?" Daenerys asked, looking at Tyrion. "Is that another figure of speech?"  
"The Army of the Dead is on the march."  
"The Army of the Dead?" Tyrion questioned.  
Jon sighed. "You don't know me well, my lord, but do you think I'm a liar or a madman?" he asked.  
"No, I don't think you're either of those things."  
"The Army of the Dead is real. The white walkers are real. The Night King is real. I've seen them. If they get past the Wall and we're squabbling amongst ourselves..." Jon began to step forward, but two Dothraki stepped up as well, staring at him with their dark eyes, "we're finished," he concluded.  
Silence once more. "I was born at Dragonstone," Daenerys finally said, rising from her throne and beginning to walk toward the Northerners. "Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now, of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don't remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I've been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea, at sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will."  
She was not very far from Jon. He didn't hesitate. "You'll be ruling over a graveyard if we don't defeat the Night King."  
Tyrion stepped over to Daenerys's side. "The war against my sister has already begun," he said to Jon. "You can't expect us to halt hostilities and join you in fighting whatever you saw beyond the Wall."  
Emmelyne shook her head, stepping closer. "You don't believe him," she stated. "I understand, of course, it all sounds like utter nonsense. But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen to the shores of Dragonstone, it has also made Jon Snow the King in the North. You were the first to make the Dothraki cross the sea? Jon was the first to make allies between the Northerners and the Free Folk. He was named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He was named King in the North. Not because of a stupid birthright. He doesn't have a birthright. All of the Northerners made him their leader because they believe in him."  
Davos joined Emmelyne now. "All those things you don't believe in, he faced those things. He fought those things for the good of his people. He risked his life for his people. He took a knife in the heart for his people. He gave his own- -"  
Jon gave him a sharp looking, stopping him. Emmelyne lowered her head. Davos hesitated. "If we don't put aside our enmities and band together," he said, "we will die. And then it doesn't matter whose skeleton sits on the Iron Throne."  
"If it doesn't matter, then you might as well kneel," Tyrion stated. "Swear your allegiance to Queen Daenerys, help her to defeat my sister, and together, our armies will protect the North."  
"There's no time for that," Jon argued. "There's no time for any of this! While we stand here debating- -"  
"It takes no time to bend the knee. Pledge your sword to her cause."  
"And why would I do that? I mean no offense, Your Grace, but I don't know you. As far as I can tell, your claim to the thrones rests entirely on your father's name, and my own father fought to overthrow the Mad King. The lords of the North placed their trust in me to lead them, and I will continue to do so as well as I can."  
"That's fair," Daenerys said. "It's also fair to point out that I'm the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By declaring yourself king of the northernmost kingdom, you are in open rebellion."  
Footsteps sounded suddenly, and the bald, egg looking form of Lord Varys hurried into the room. He stepped up to Daenerys, whispering in her ear. She looked up at Jon, Davos, and Emmelyne. "You must forgive my manners. You'll all be tired after your long journey. We'll have baths drawn for you and supper sent to your rooms."  
She turned, speaking Dothraki to one of the men near her. He stepped up to Jon, Davos, and Emmelyne. "Am I your prisoner?" Jon asked.  
Daenerys turned back to face him. "Not yet," she replied.  
And then, the Northerners were escorted to their rooms.


	8. Chapter Eight: Preparation

Emmelyne didn't like her chambers. They were dark. Empty. Cold. Far too quiet. She sat on her bed, smoothing her hands along her stomach. She tallied months in her mind. Three, if she were correct in her timing. "A child," she whispered to herself.  
She'd never expected to have a child. Never even expected to be married. She'd thought she'd live out the life of a Red Priestess, traveling Westeros and spreading the religion. No one else knew. Perhaps, if she could find a maester, moon tea could be a solution. But, somewhere in her mind, she wanted this baby. What would Markus think? She knew that he loved her, but he was still noble, and his father had prospects of betrothals for him. Emmelyne tried to force the thoughts from her mind, pulling her legs up to her chest and letting out a few long breaths. She would not be sleeping tonight.  
Jon visited Emmelyne just before he was to go to bed. "Daenerys has agreed to let us mine the dragonglass," he said, and there was a smile on his face. "I wondering if, when we had enough, would you like some arrows to be made? I know you brought your bow."  
Emmelyne nodded, smiling as well. "Yes," she said. "That seems like a very good idea."  
When the mining started, Jon supervised the men. Emmelyne didn't occupy herself with the mining; instead, she chose to remain in her room. Daenerys assigned a Dothraki girl named Halli to be Emmelyne's handmaiden. Halli was a sweet young girl, with long, black hair that she kept styled in what looked like thousands of tight braids. She had dark brown eyes, so dark that they were nearly black. She was tanned, and very small. Her knowledge of the Common Tongue was lacking, but she could at least say names and standard greetings. She told Emmelyne that she was fourteen, and before she came to Westeros, she had been a wife to Khal Moro, making her a Khaleesi. But when Daenerys saved her from Moro, she gave up the title, instead choosing to simply be a handmaiden. Emmelyne liked Halli very much.  
The news of the morning was Theon Greyjoy returning to Dragonstone. Emmelyne hadn't seen Theon since she left Winterfell, and, honestly, she did not want to see him. He'd taken Winterfell and pretended to kill Bran and Rickon. He'd beheaded Rodrik Cassel. As far as Emmelyne was concerned, Theon could die and she would not care at all. He may have saved Sansa from Ramsay, but everything else outdid that.  
Daenerys had left to attack a Lannister convoy. She managed to convert most of the men to her cause, but had to kill Randyll and Dickon Tarly in the process. When she was said to be returning, Jon and Emmelyne decided to wait and greet her. They stood on the cliffs, Jon looking out at the water. Emmelyne stared at the sky, looking around for the Mother of Dragons. Drogon's screeching sounded around them, and Jon turned to look as well. Daenerys urged him downward, letting him settle on the ground. His massive claws shook the ground. Emmelyne smiled brightly, still so surprised by the large creature. Drogon locked eyes with Jon, inching forward. He roared, and Emmelyne's widened at the side of his giant teeth. He lowered his head, still staring at Jon, who took a few hesitant steps forward, taking his glove off of his hand. Daenerys watched him closely. He reached out slowly, his hand shaking. It only ceased when he lay it on the dragon's scaled nose. He pat the scales gently. Emmelyne was filled with wonder. She moved forward as well, holding her hand out flat to Drogon. While his eyes were closed, he still sensed her presence. He sniffed her hand, opening his mouth slightly. In Emmelyne's palm, there were embers. They drifted upward, turning into a tiny tornado of flame. Daenerys was amazed. Jon was the first to move his hand away, but Emmelyne stayed a moment longer. She stared at the beautiful, spiraling fire. Red, orange, gold. She felt the faint heat of it on her hand. When she drew her hand away, it disappeared quickly. All that remained was a faint, swirling red mark on her palm. It was not a burn, for it did not pain her. Emmelyne reached for the ruby at her throat, and she let out a shuddering gasp.  
When Daenerys dismounted, she looked at Emmelyne. "What did you do?" she asked her.  
"I don't know," Emmelyne replied.  
The initial shock of Jon's touching Drogon had worn away, and now he, too, looked at Emmelyne. "That was magic," he said. "It had to be."  
She nodded, entirely unsure of what had just happened. "I'm going to return to my chambers," she whispered.  
And so she did.  
In her chambers, she was shaking slightly. She stared at the mark on her hand, a million different thoughts going through her head about what could be the explanation. She knew that none of these were true. The next morning, Halli stepped into the room. She hesitated before speaking, trying to speak plainly. "Jon Snow... wants you... to meet him... in the... map room."  
Emmelyne smiled, nodding. "Good job, Halli. Thank you."  
"You are... welcome."  
So, Emmelyne made her way to the room where Stannis had had a large map carved into a table. She smiled at Jon, who was reading a scroll. Daenerys, Tyrion, Varys, and Davos were at the table surrounding him. There was a man that Emmelyne did not know. He was older, with blond hair and blue eyes. He looked at Emmelyne, nodding respectfully. "Ser Jorah Mormont," he introduced.  
"Emmelyne Stark," she replied.  
"I thought Arya was dead," Jon said suddenly, looking up from his scroll. "I thought Bran was dead."  
"I'm happy for you," Daenerys said.  
She caught Emmelyne's gaze and added a hasty, "both of you."  
"You don't look happy," she told Jon.  
"Bran saw the Night King and his army marching towards Eastwatch," Jon explained. "If they make it past the Wall..."  
"The Wall has kept them out for thousands of years," Varys interjected, "presumably."  
"I need to go home."  
"You said you don't have enough men," Daenerys pointed out.  
Jon shrugged. "We'll fight with the men we have. Unless you'll join us."  
"And give the country to Cersei? As soon as I march away, she marches in."  
"Perhaps not," Tyrion said. "Cersei thinks the Army of the Dead is nothing but a story made up by wet nurses to frighten children. What if we prove her wrong?"  
'I don't think she'll come see the dead at my invitation," Jon said with a humorless chuckle.  
Tyrion stepped toward him. "So bring the dead to her," he urged.  
"I thought that was what we were trying to avoid," Daenerys pointed out.  
"We don't have to bring the whole army. Only one soldier."  
"It's a good idea," Emmelyne said. "Is it possible?" she asked Jon.  
Jon thought for a moment. "The first wight I ever saw was brought into Castle Black from beyond the Wall."  
Tyrion continued. "Bring one of these things down to King's Landing and show her the truth."  
But Varys seemed unconvinced. "Anything you bring back will be useless unless Cersei grants us an audience and is somehow convinced not to murder us the moment we set foot in the capital."  
"The only person she listens to is Jaime. He might listen to me."  
Tyrion looked at Daenerys expectantly. "And how would you get into King's Landing?" she demanded.  
Both Jon, Tyrion, and Emmelyne turned to look at Davos. He'd once been a smuggler, and knew how to sneak around. "I can smuggle you in," Davos said, "but if the gold cloaks were to recognize you, I'm warning you, I'm not a fighter."  
"Well, it will all be for nothing if we don't have one of these dead men," Daenerys said.  
"Fair point," Varys added. "How do you propose to find one?"  
Jon shook his head. Jorah spoke up. "With the queen's permission, I'll go north and take one."  
Daenerys spun in her seat, eyes widening at him. He shrugged. "You asked me to find a cure so I could serve you. Allow me to serve you."  
"The Free Folk will help us," Jon said. "They know the real north better than anyone."  
"They won't follow Ser Jorah," Davos pointed out.  
"They won't have to."  
There was silence for a long time. Davos was the one who broke it. "You can't lead a raid beyond the Wall. You're not in the Night's Watch anymore, you're King in the North."  
"I'm the only one here who's fought them," Jon stated. "I'm the only one here who knows them."  
"I haven't given you permission to leave," Daenerys said.  
Jon turned to face her. "With respect, Your Grace, I don't need your permission. I am a king. And I came here knowing that you could have your men behead me or your dragons burn me alive. I put my trust in you, a stranger, because I knew it was the best chance for my people, for all our people. Now I'm asking you to trust in a stranger... because it's our best chance."  
Daenerys and Tyrion shared a look, and then, she nodded.  
Emmelyne took Jon by the arm, whispering to him. "I'm going with you. I'll need some dragonglass arrows."


	9. Chapter Nine: Fierce One

Tyrion and Davos had traveled to King's Landing. Jon, while they were gone, made Emmelyne dragonglass arrows. She didn't know why she wanted to go. It was a mad idea, truly. But there was something inside her that wanted adventure. That wanted thrill and excitement.  
Just before they were set to leave, Emmelyne was on the beach, adjusting her bow and arrows on her shoulder. She'd styled her hair differently from how she normally would; in two long, tight braids that spilled over her shoulders. Instead of a red dress, she wore a red tunic and a pair of black trousers. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned, seeing a young man that she recognized instantly. He'd cut his hair, but he still looked like himself. "Gendry!" she cried, hurrying forward and wrapping her arms around him a tight embrace.  
"Seven hells, Emmelyne," he chuckled.  
She laughed, untangling her arms from around his neck. "The last time I saw you was on this island," she said with a smile.  
"That was... four years ago, if I'm correct."  
"Where have you been?"  
"King's Landing. I was able to get a job as a smith."  
Emmelyne was still grinning despite herself. "What are you doing back?"  
"I'm going to go beyond the Wall with your brother."  
"I'm going, too."  
Gendry chuckled. "Can you wield a weapon?"  
"I'm damn good with a bow and arrow."  
"Really?"  
"Yes, really. I can swing a sword fairly well, too, believe it or not."  
Gendry smiled at that. "A lady who can swing a sword. Impressive."  
She shoved him lightly. "Shut up."  
He looked her up and down, still continuing to smile. "You haven't changed very much. Of course, you're taller and all of that. But you still look like yourself."  
Emmelyne nodded. "You do, too."  
"I like your hair, styled like that."  
"It was short for a long time."  
He snorted at that. "Really?"  
Davos, who was stood near the dragonglass cave, rolled his eyes. He waved Gendry over. The young man laughed. "The Onion Knight needs me. I'll be seeing you in a moment, but I should go to him."  
"You should," Emmelyne agreed.  
He embraced her once more, kissing her cheek before making his way to Davos and then into the cave.  
Once everyone was sure they were prepared, they began to ready the boats. Emmelyne saw Daenerys speaking to Jorah, who had her by the hands. He kissed them, releasing her when Jon, Gendry, and Davos stepped onto the shore. Emmelyne joined Davos and Gendry, preparing to push the boat out. Once Jon and Daenerys finished speaking, he joined them, and they the boat into the water. Emmelyne was first to get into one of the boats. Gendry sat himself beside her, looking at the bow on her shoulder. "I guess I'll be seeing how you are with that thing," he said.  
"I guess you will," she replied.  
She leant herself into his side, sighing softly. She had a feeling that this adventure was one that would excite her to no extent. But also frightened her a great deal. When they reached Eastwatch, the first task was to find Tormund. But when they did, the wildling seemed convinced that the plan would fail. "Isn't it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?" he asked Davos.  
"I've been failing at that job of late," Davos said.  
"How many queens are there now?" Tormund questioned.  
"Two," Emmelyne replied. "Daenerys and Cersei."  
Tormund looked at Jon. "And you need to convince the one with dragons or the one who fucks her brother?"  
Gendry chuckled, and Emmelyne kicked him under the table. "Both," Jon said.  
"How many men did you bring?" Tormund pressed.  
"Not enough."  
"The big woman?"  
Jon chuckled at that. Jorah spoke up next. "We were hoping some of your men could help."  
Tormund grunted in response. "I'll be staying behind," Davos said. "I'm a liability out there, as you well know."  
"You are," Tormund said.  
He leaned closer to Jon. "You really want to go out there?" he demanded. "Again?"  
Jon nodded. "You're not the only ones," Tormund said.  
Tormund led them down to the dungeons, where a small cluster of men was sat. "My scouts found them a mile south of the Wall," Tormund was saying. "Said they were on their way here."  
Emmelyne recognized Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion instantly. But her eyes went wide when she saw the giant figure of Sandor Clegane, lying on a bench. Sandor rolled over, staring at their group. "You're the Hound," Jon stated. "I saw you once at Winterfell."  
Sandor sat up. He didn't seem to notice Emmelyne, but she supposed with her cloak hood pulled over her head, he didn't care about who she was. "They want to go to the Wall, too," Tormund said.  
"We don't want to go to the Wall," Beric replied, "we have to. Our lord told us that the Great War is coming- -" he started to explain.  
"Don't trust him," Gendry interrupted. "Don't trust any of them."  
He stepped closer, looking through the bars and continuing to speak. "They're the Brotherhood. And the last thing their lord told them to do was sell me to a red witch to be murdered."  
Jorah stepped up next. "Thoros?" he asked. "I hardly recognized you."  
Thoros straightened. "Ser Jorah Mormont," he replied. "They won't give me anything to drink down here. I haven't been feeling like myself."  
Tormund slowly turned to look at Jorah. "You're a fucking Mormont?" he demanded. "Like the last Lord Commander?"  
Jorah nodded. "He was my father."  
"He hunted us like animals."  
"You returned the favor, as I recall."  
"Here we all are," Beric said, "at the edge of the world at the same moment, heading in the same direction for the same reason."  
"Our reasons aren't your reasons," Davos stated.  
"It doesn't matter what we think our reasons are," Beric said, standing. "There's a greater purpose at work. And we serve it together, whether we know it or not. We may take the steps, but the Lord of Light- -"  
Sandor cut him off suddenly. "For fuck's sake, will you shut your hole? Are we coming with you or not?"  
"Don't you want to know what we're doing?" Jorah questioned.  
"Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell, waiting to die?" Thoros answered.  
"He's right," Jon said. "We're all on the same side."  
Gendry looked at him as if he was stupid. "How can we be?" he demanded.  
"We're all breathing."  
Tormund shoved the keys into his hands, allowing him to unlock the cell. The Brotherhood filed out, Sandor heading up the rear. The moment he was out, Emmelyne flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "What the fuck?" he demanded, and Emmelyne laughed before letting go.  
"I thought that you were dead. I had a vision..." she whispered.  
"I'm alive, fierce one," he answered, a smile starting to grow on his face. "I'm alive."  
She tightened her grip on him, and he wrapped his arms around her in turn. "Gods, you're warm," he said.  
She smiled, kissing him. This kiss was longer than their first, and neither truly knew what to do. When they broke apart, Emmelyne lowered to the floor. She looked around at the men, chuckling at their stares. "What?" she said softly.


	10. Chapter Ten: Revelation

It was time to go beyond the Wall. Their small group stood before the gates, waiting for them to be raised. Emmelyne stood beside Sandor, clutching tightly onto his hand. He held hers as well, something that felt strange to him. She was so close to him that he could feel the heat radiating from her body. He was thankful for that, because the minute the gate opened, the group was hit with a burst of cold air. Even despite her natural heat, Emmelyne knew that it was terribly cold. She pressed herself to Sandor's side, and he looked down at her, smiling only to himself.  
Snow blew outside, making everything a bright white. Emmelyne instinctively pulled her cloak tighter around her. What was she thinking? Why had she decide to do this?  
Jon, who was at the head of the group, looked back at the others. Thoros took a drink from the skin in his hands. "May I have some of that?" she asked him, and he nodded, handing it over.  
When she took a drink, she realized quickly that it was rum, not wine, like she was used to. Even still, she took another sip. "Thank you," she said, handing the skin back.  
Jon stepped out into the open, and they all followed. The snow fell on Emmelyne, settling into her braided hair and eyelashes. Sandor couldn't help but think of how beautiful it made her look, but he forced the thought from his mind. This was not the time. There would be other times, but not now. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.  
None of them knew exactly how much time had passed. They hadn't stopped walking. There was hardly any conversation, and the silence had given Emmelyne time to think. She thought about everything, but mostly about the child growing in her stomach. It was four months, now. She knew that she was starting to grow, but no one had really noticed. Loose dresses were a large factor in that. She was just pleased to be covered in layers of clothes; no one would notice.  
"You all right?" Jon asked Gendry as they all walked.  
Gendry let out a grunt in response. "Ever been north before?" Tormund asked.  
"Never seen snow before," was the reply.  
"Beautiful, eh?" Tormund continued. "I can breathe again. Down south, the air smells like pig shit."  
"You've never been down south," Jon stated.  
Emmelyne ignored their conversation, looking up at Sandor. "I thought you were dead for the longest time," she said. "I'd seen a vision. You were hurt, begging with Arya to kill you. How did you survive?"  
Sandor shook his head slightly. "Septon found me, named Brother Ray. He made me better, made me join his congregation. One of the few good men I've ever met. He's dead now."  
Emmelyne nodded slowly. "The good people do tend to die first."  
"If that were true, you'd be long dead."  
"What makes you think I'm a good person?"  
He looked down at her. "You don't think you're good?"  
"No, I don't."  
"You are. You're kind. Caring, to an extent. Better than most people I've met."  
She couldn't help but blush at that. "Thank you," she said with the start of a smile. "Sandor."  
He decided that he liked making her smile. So, when he pulled her into his side and she continued smiling, he was pleased with the results. "How do you live up here?" Gendry was asking Tormund. "How do you keep your balls from freezing off?"  
"You got to keep moving," Tormund said. "That's the secret. Walking's good, fighting's better, fucking's best."  
"There's not a living woman within a hundred miles of here," Jon pointed out. "Besides Em. And you're not going near her."  
"We have to make do with what we've got, then," Tormund shrugged.  
Jon, knowing this was a joke, laughed, but Gendry's eyes went wide. Tormund chuckled, talking quietly to Jon. "This one is maybe not so smart."  
They walked ahead, allowing Gendry to fall back into the bulk of the group. He looked back at Emmelyne and Sandor, and she smiled at him, waving slightly. Tormund and Jon continued speaking to each other from the head of the group.  
Emmelyne continuously touched her stomach as they walked. She was anxious. She didn't know if she would tell anyone, or if she'd keep it a big secret. Of course, once she was further along, it would be harder to hide.  
It had stopped snowing at some point during their walk. Gendry found himself in the center of the Brotherhood's party. Thoros looked at him. "You still mad at us, boy?"  
"You sold me to a witch," Gendry replied stiffly.  
"A priestess, like Emmelyne. I'll admit, it is a subtle distinction."  
"We're fighting a great war," Beric shrugged. "Wars cost money."  
"I wanted to be one of you," Gendry argued. "I wanted to join the Brotherhood, but you sold me off like a slave. Do you know what she did to me? She strapped me down on a bed, she stripped me naked..."  
"Sounds all right so far," Sandor interrupted, and Emmelyne shoved him lightly.  
Gendry continued. "And put leeches on me."  
"Was she naked, too?" Sandor asked, and again, Emmelyne shoved him.  
"She needed your blood," Thoros explained.  
"Yes, thank you," Gendry snapped. "I know that."  
"Could have been worse," Sandor shrugged.  
Gendry stopped, and the others stopped with him. "She wanted to kill me! They would've killed me if it wasn't for Davos," he cried.  
"But they didn't, did they? So, what you whinging about?" Sandor demanded.  
Gendry shook his head. "I'm not whinging."  
"Your lips are moving and you're complaining about something. That's whinging," Sandor stated, pointing at Beric. "This one's been killed six times. You don't hear him bitching about it."  
He pointed at Emmelyne next, and his next words surprised her. "This one's pregnant and out here with all of us. She's not making any noise."  
"Pregnant?" Gendry asked, his eyes widening.  
But Sandor simply walked away, leading Emmelyne with him. "How did you know?" she asked him as they walked.  
"Easy to figure out. You keep touching your stomach. You're quiet. And not to sound rude, but normally, you dress like a whore. Your clothes are loose right now."  
Emmelyne let out a weak laugh. "Right," she said. "I was trying to keep it a secret."  
"You weren't doing a very good job. Who's the father?"  
She bit down on her lip. "A knight."  
He scoffed at that. "A knight? Really? Northern?"  
"From the Vale."  
"Noble?"  
"Yes."  
He nodded slowly. "You want to marry this noble knight?"  
Emmelyne hesitated before answering. "No."  
The next question was one she was not expecting. "Would you ever marry me?"  
She did not answer.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Sad Eyes

As they walked, Jorah caught up to Jon. "The first time I went north of the Wall was with your father," Jon said.  
"He was a good man," Jorah replied. "He deserved a better son. Were you with him at the end?"  
"I was a prisoner of the wildlings. But we avenged him. I want you to know that. Every mutineer found justice."  
"Can't think of a worse way for him to go. The Night's Watch was his life. He would have died to protect every one of those men. And they butchered him."  
Jon nodded. "I hate that he died that way. My father was the most honorable man I ever met. He was good all the way through. And he died on the executioner's block."  
Emmelyne flinched at the memory of Ned being dragged to the steps. She stopped listening, biting down on her lip. Her time in King's Landing felt like faraway nightmare, one that she'd experienced years ago, but could never forget. Joffrey's torture. Cersei's manipulation. The riot, where Emmelyne was quite sure she would die. And Sandor saving her from all of it. Sandor and her fleeing during the Battle of the Blackwater. She adjusted her bow, licking her lips, which were chapped from the cold.  
Jon and Jorah stopped for a moment, but everyone else continued walking.  
The matter of marriage between Emmelyne and Sandor was forgotten, but the thought still went through her mind. Would she ever marry Sandor? It was a strange thing to consider. She truly believed that she was in love with him, but was he in love with her?  
Beside her, Sandor was thinking much of the same thing. His thoughts, however, centered mostly on Emmelyne's pregnancy. He could only think of her as the sixteen-year-old girl who'd been afraid of him when she first arrived in King's Landing. As the sixteen-year-old who collapsed against his chest when her father was killed. As the seventeen-year-old who'd he'd saved from almost certain rape and murder. As the seventeen-year-old who he had finally saved during the Battle of the Blackwater. And as the eighteen-year-old who had left him. Who'd kissed him on the cheek and said that she was staying with the Brotherhood.  
But here she was now. Twenty-four years old and pregnant. His grip on her hand tightened.  
The sun was beginning to set.  
Sandor stopped walking suddenly to retie his boot, and Tormund walked over to him and Emmelyne. He spoke to Sandor, however. "You're the one they call 'the Dog'," he said.  
"Fuck off," Sandor snapped.  
Emmelyne chuckled, looking up at Tormund. "It's Hound, not Dog. But he doesn't like to be called it, as you can tell."  
Tormund laughed as well. "They told me he was mean."  
He looked at Sandor now. "Were you born mean or you just hate wildlings?" he asked.  
"I don't give two shits about wildlings," Sandor stated. "It's gingers I hate."  
"Gingers are beautiful. We are kissed by fire, just like you," Tormund said, pointing at Sandor's scars.  
"Don't point your fucking finger at me," Sandor said, slapping Tormund's hand away.  
He finished tying his boot, taking Emmelyne's arm and starting to walk again. But Tormund followed them. "Did you trip into the fire when you were a baby?" he asked.  
"I didn't trip, I was pushed," Sandor replied.  
"And ever since, you've been mean."  
"Will you fuck off?"  
"I don't think you're truly mean. You're not being mean to Em. And you have sad eyes. Does Emmelyne make you not so sad?"  
Sandor stopped, turning to face him. "You want to suck my dick, is that it?" he demanded, and Emmelyne held back laughter.  
"Dick?" Tormund asked.  
"Cock."  
"Ah, dick. I like it."  
"I bet you do."  
Emmelyne chuckled, looking up at Sandor. "He's only trying to make conversation," she offered.  
"He's fucking mad," Sandor replied.  
They started walking again, Tormund trying to continue conversation. "Nope," he said, "it's pussy for me. I have a beauty waiting for me back at Winterfell. If I ever get back there. Yellow hair, blue eyes, the tallest woman you've ever seen. Almost as tall as you."  
Sandor stopped once more, spinning around to face Tormund. "Brienne of Tarth," he stated.  
"You know her?"  
"You're with Brienne of fucking Tarth?"  
Tormund stepped back slightly. "Well, not with her yet," he said. "But I see the way she looks at me."  
"How does she look at you? Sandor asked. "Like she wants to carve you up and eat your liver?"  
"You do know her."  
"We've met."  
They started off walking again. Yet, Tormund continued talking. "I want to make babies with her. Think of them- - great big monsters. They'd conquer the world."  
"How did a mad fucker like you live this long?" Sandor replied.  
"I'm good at killing people."  
He finally shut up after that, which Sandor seemed grateful for. "I don't like him," he told Emmelyne.  
"He's quite nice once you know him better," she shrugged.  
"I'd rather not know him at all."  
"Oh, be quiet."  
Sandor snorted, looking down at her. "What if I don't?"  
"I'll make you be quiet," she replied, though she didn't know how she would do that.  
Jon and Beric stopped walking for a moment, speaking to each other, but they were walking again in a few moments.  
There was a moment in front of them, and Sandor froze for a moment. "That's what I saw in the fire," he told Thoros, pointing. "A mountain like an arrowhead."  
Everyone else stopped as well. "Are you sure?" Thoros asked, and Sandor nodded stiffly.  
Emmelyne looked up at him. "What else did you see?"  
"The dead marching past the mountain," he said.  
He looked at Thoros again. "We're getting close."  
Emmelyne shivered involuntarily. She and Sandor began walking once more, the others following.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Ice Water

It had begun to snow again, and everyone had begun to slow down. Emmelyne's stomach kept twisting painfully, and she leaned heavily against Sandor, trying to keep her breathing normal. He held her tightly around the waist, and his grip was nearly the only thing keeping her standing. They all were ducked low, trying to see through the haze of white. The wind slapped against Emmelyne's face, stinging her skin and turning her cheeks a bright red. Everyone was clustered together, trying to maintain at least some warmth. Even Emmelyne's core heat had started to wear away, leaving her shaking madly beneath her furs.  
Tormund pointed at something in the distance, something near hidden by the snow. Jon looked at Tormund, shaking his head. "Look!" the wildlings urged, still pointing.  
Jon raised his hand against the snow, staring out at the shape. Emmelyne looked as well, vaguely able to make out that it was a bear. "A bear," she said, though her voice was barely audible.  
Sandor repeated this for everyone to hear.  
One of their wildling companions stopped, looking back at them all. "Big fucker," Sandor said.  
It stopped walking, and Emmelyne could see that it was turning to face the group. It's eyes glowed bright blue. "Do bears have blue eyes?" Gendry asked hesitantly.  
The bear let out a grunt, leaping forward towards them. The wildling ahead turned, breaking into a run back for the group. The men drew their swords, and Emmelyne started to nock an arrow.  
The wildling was almost to the group, when the giant bear leaped onto him, it's jaws closing around his middle. A horrible scream echoed around them. Jon lurched into action, hurrying forward. There was no body, however. Only spattered blood and the wildlings spear. The wight bear continued to roar, but no one could label exactly where the sound was coming from.  
The group formed into a circle, trying to see from all around. They held their weapons tightly, waiting for an attack. Emmelyne squinted, trying to find the shape of the bear.  
There was a sudden roar, and another wilding was ripped away from the group, screaming horribly as the bear thrashed him back and forth. Jon ran forward, trying to distract the bear. This only angered it, and the beast threw Jon back. Sandor quickly helped him back to his feet. Beside Emmelyne, Thoros and Beric's swords ignited. They ran ahead, coming right in front of the bear. It towered over them on it's hind legs, letting out another roar before knocking Thoros to the ground. It dropped on top of him, clawing at his back. "Thoros!" Emmelyne screamed.  
Beric charged the bear, which threw Thoros into the air. He hit the ground hard, and it advanced on him once more, Beric following. The bear lit up with fire as Beric managed a hit, and it stepped toward Emmelyne and Sandor. But Sandor was frozen. He stared at the flaming animal, his dark eyes wide and horrified. It lumbered toward them, leaping forward. Thoros jumped into it's path, falling once more to the ground. He held his sword with both hands between the bear's jaws, shouting as it fought against the metal.  
Tormund was next to attempt a fight with the bear. He charged forward, hitting it hard in the side with his axe. But the bear knocked him away just as quickly. It continued it's fight with Thoros, managing to throw his sword aside. There was a tearing of flesh and a loud scream as it tore into Thoros's chest. It thrashed him side to side, Thoros screaming all the while. Sandor's shock finally seemed to wear away, but before he could do anything, Emmelyne fired an arrow into it's eye. It let out a final roar before falling dead. Gendry and Beric hurried up, pulling Thoros away from the burning carcass. Emmelyne slowly stepped forward, freeing her arrow from the eye socket. She looked back, searching for Sandor. But he had left his place, moving to look at Thoros. Beric and Gendry pulled away his layers of clothes, revealing long, deep claw marks in his chest. With each breath more blood dripped from the wound. "We have to get him back to Eastwatch," Jorah said.  
Thoros shook his head. "Flask," he stated.  
Beric found the flask in Thoros's furs, opening it up. The Red Priest drank heavily, pulling it roughly when Beric tried to take the flask away. When he was finished, he let out a cough. "Go on," he said.  
Beric did as told, lowering his flaming sword in an attempt to cauterize the wound. Emmelyne closed her eyes when Thoros cried out.  
Sandor turned away, and she followed him, taking his arm gently. "It's okay," she whispered. "It's going to be okay."  
He shook himself free of her grip, shaking his head.  
It took three men to help Thoros back onto his feet. Beric allowed his flaming sword to wear off. Jon and Tormund stared at the bear's tracks.  
The walking was slower now that Thoros was injured. Emmelyne had sped up the best she could, trying to keep pace with Sandor. Suddenly, Tormund stopped, raising his hand. Everyone else went still as well.  
The sound of clanging metal was coming from nearby. Tormund kept walking, leaving the rest of them behind. He climbed up onto the rocks, looking down into a valley. Jon followed, peering down as well. Only they could see, but it was a line of wights, led by a singular white walker. Jon lowered, speaking quietly. "Where's the rest of them?" he asked.  
"If we wait long enough, we'll find out," Tormund said.  
They stepped back from the rock, returning to the main group. "What is it?" Emmelyne asked.  
"Wights. And a walker," Jon answered.  
They decided to set up a distraction, lighting a fire in the path of a wights. Sure enough, it worked. The walker circled the fire, looking at it with confusion. It stepped forward, looking around.  
That was when the living attacked. Jon launched into a sword fight with the walker, as everyone else began dealing with the wights. Jorah was caught suddenly, the wight he was fighting grabbing him tightly by the throat. Emmelyne fired an arrow into the nape of it's neck, and in seconds it was tumbling. She hurried forward, retrieving her arrow. That was when Jon killed the walker. It exploded in a burst of what looked like blue and white glass. The wights surrounding it exploded as well. All except for one.  
It snarled and growled, spinning around, trying to find a way to escape. They all stared at it with wide eyes. A wildling ran forward, knocking it toward Sandor, who he figured would be able to wrangle the creature. It stepped away, charging at Tormund, who threw his axe aside and punched it in the face. It hit the ground, and Sandor dived forward, holding it firmly in place. Jorah, Emmelyne, and Beric ran over to help, and the others followed quickly.  
It let out a high-pitched shriek that made Emmelyne want to cover her ears. Sandor pressed his hand to it's mouth, silencing it. It fought him, however, biting his hand. He pulled his hand away quickly, tearing some of the skin that surrounded the wight's mouth. "Fuck!" he snapped, shaking his hand before quieting the creature once more.  
The ground began to rumble around them. Jon turned, looking around. There were thundering footsteps. Everyone froze, looking out in the distance. Jorah dug into his furs, pulling out a sack and stuffing it over the wight's head. Sandor tied the sack around it's neck as fast as he could.  
Jon moved to Gendry, speaking quickly. "Run back to Eastwatch," he stated. "Get a raven to Daenerys, tell her what's happened."  
"I'm not leaving you," Gendry said.  
"You're the fastest. Go, now."  
Gendry started to run, only to be grabbed by Tormund. "You're faster without the hammer," Tormund said. "Give it. Give it!"  
He reluctantly handed the hammer over before breaking into a run in the other direction. The others continued on, trying to keep a fast pace. "Come on!" Tormund shouted.  
"Run!" Jorah added.  
"Come on!"  
They ran onto a frozen lake, stopping when the ice began to break beneath their feet. "Stop!" Jorah cried.  
Sandor tried to move his foot as ice spider webbed out all around him. Emmelyne tested her weight, flinching at the sound of crunching ice. The footsteps became louder. Everyone turned. There was a swarm of wights. Thousands of them, if not hundreds of thousands. They were running, snarling and growling. "Go!" Jon shouted.  
The group broke into a run for the rock at the center of the lake. They were almost there. The wights surrounded them, keeping pace. One of the wildlings fell. He stumbled to his feet, trying to catch up. Jon and the others reached the rock, leaving the wildling, who was quickly killed. Emmelyne was behind, tripping over her cloak. She was almost at the rock when she felt the ice break beneath her. Before she could even react, she was in the water.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Frozen

Black water surrounded Emmelyne. She was completely numb and completely frozen within seconds. Her eyes stung as she looked around the water, and her lungs burned. She hadn't had time to catch her breath.  
She struggled against the water, trying to swim to the surface. She had never been a strong swimmer, and instead of swimming, all she could do was stay firmly in place. Her face was entirely red from the cold.  
Shadows moved on the surface above her. She closed her eyes, trying to stop herself from breathing in. But she couldn't.  
The water burned when she breathed it in through her nose. She let out a few weak gasps, water overwhelming her. Filling her lungs. She wanted to scream. She wanted to swim.  
Sandor pulled her from the lake, dragging her onto the rock. She was unconscious, her chest rising and falling far too slowly. She'd set off a chain reaction by breaking the ice. The wights had to stop at the edge and watch as the entire lake fell through. They were surrounding the rock entirely.  
Jon's eyes were wide as he looked at Emmelyne. He hadn't even seen her sink. "What happened?" he demanded.  
Sandor shook his head wildly. "She broke through. Oh, gods, she's so cold."  
Her pale hands were covered with ice. Sandor took them tightly in his own, trying to bring some heat to her body. He looked around at all of the men around him. "Someone help me!" he shouted.  
Jorah was the first one to react. He moved forward, lowering by Sandor's side. He began to press on Emmelyne's chest, trying to force the water from her lungs.  
It took a long time before she began to cough, heaving up water onto the ground. She gasped for air a few times, slowly sitting up. She was shaking when Sandor wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tightly into his chest. "Oh, you're alive," he said. "You're alive. You're so cold."  
She let out a weak sob, resting her head on his shoulder. The pair sat like this for a long time.  
Night had fallen before Emmelyne was at least partly warm. She was curled up in a ball, her arms wrapped around her stomach. The wight on the ground was thrashing and snarling, but none of them paid it any mind. The pain in Emmelyne's stomach had gone away, though she still was worried about her child. Sandor was stood beside her, guarding her closely. She flinched whenever he tried to touch her, and so he had stopped trying to touch her. At some point Sandor sat down beside her, and she nestled into his side. He held her close to him tightly. Curled up in his arms, she fell asleep. It wasn't long until he rested his head on top of hers and fell asleep as well.  
When morning came and everyone began to wake up, Sandor stood slowly, untangling Emmelyne from him. He walked up to their captive wight, kicking it roughly in the side. It let out a loud screech, which snapped Emmelyne awake. "What the fuck was that for?" she demanded, and Sandor glanced back at her.  
"Sorry," he offered.  
Beric moved to check on Thoros, who was lying flat on his back. He shook him slightly. "Thoros?"  
Thoros's face had begun to turn blue. His eyes were wide open, unblinking. He was dead. "Thoros," Beric whispered.  
Emmelyne rose to her feet, following Sandor to see Thoros. Beric slowly raised the blanket that he'd been wrapped in, covering Thoros's face. Sandor lowered down by his body. "They say it's one of the betters ways to go," he offered.  
He reached down, freeing Thoros's flask from his side. He opened it, starting to take a drink. "Lord of Light, show us the way. Come to us in darkness and lead Your servant into the light," Beric said.  
He placed Thoros's sword on his chest, closing his hands over it. Sandor started to take another drink, only to have the flask taken by Jon. "We have to burn his body," Jon said.  
He poured the flask out over Thoros's body. "We'll all be close behind him unless the Lord of Light is kind enough to send us a bit of fire," Tormund commented.  
Beric shrugged, drawing his sword and igniting it. "Lord of Light," he said, "come to us in our darkness, for the night is dark and full of terrors."  
"For the night is dark and full of terrors," Emmelyne echoed.  
He stepped forward, igniting the corpse.  
Jon and Jorah moved to the edge of the rock, looking out at the wights. "We'll all freeze soon," Jorah said. "Emmelyne especially. The water will freeze, too."  
He continued speaking.  
Emmelyne stepped close to Sandor, letting out a weak sigh. "I shouldn't have come," she said softly.  
Sandor shook his head. "I wouldn't have been able to see you if you hadn't come."  
"I suppose that's true."  
He took her hand again, kissing her cheek. "You'll be okay," he encouraged.  
Beric joined Jon and Jorah, leaving Sandor and Emmelyne to themselves.  
Not far from the rock, waiting on a cliff, was a group of five white walkers. The Night King stood at the front. Sandor and Emmelyne stepped up to join the others. Emmelyne stared at the Night King. He was an imposing figure, ice blue with bright blue eyes. Each walker rode a wight horse, and each held long spears made of ice. "The Lord brought you back," Beric said to Jon. "He brought me back. No one else. Just us. Did He do it to watch us freeze to death?"  
"Careful, Beric," Sandor warned. "You lost your priest. This is your last life.  
"I've been waiting for the end for a long time," Beric replied. "Maybe the Lord brought me here to find it."  
"Every lord I've ever met's been a cunt. Don't see why the Lord of Light should be any different."  
Hours passed. Everyone was trying to occupy their time. Sandor and Emmelyne chose to look at the army of wights. Sandor set Gendry's hammer down, picking up a rock from the ground and hurling it at the crowd of wights. It one of them in the face, breaking it's jaw clean off. "Dumb cunt," he muttered.  
He picked up another rock and threw it. This rock skittered across the ice, landing at the feet of one of the wights. It looked down at the rock, then back up. "Oh, fuck," Sandor and Emmelyne said at nearly the same time.  
The wight stepped forward, making way toward the rock. Jorah grabbed at his sword, and the others followed suit. Sandor let go of Emmelyne, who nocked an arrow. More wights began to walk out onto the ice. "Fuck," Emmelyne hissed to herself. "Fuck."


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Sacrifice

The wights were nearing the rock. It would only be a matter of moments before they reached it. Sandor held Gendry's hammer tightly in his hands, raising it slightly. Beric let his sword ignite. Emmelyne started to aim with her bow. She had twenty-five arrows exactly. That meant she could kill twenty-five wights. That wasn't counting for if she were able to retrieve her arrows. "Fuck it," Sandor said, running at the first wight to get close.  
He swung the hammer sideways, sending it crumbling. Another ran at Jon, who sliced it down with his sword. The wights that ran at them were killed quickly. Emmelyne managed to take down three with her arrows. Beric shoved his sword through one's chest, making it light up with flame before he kicked it away. Emmelyne nocked an arrow, aiming at one of the wights. Suddenly, she felt one grabbing at her. She spun around, stabbing her arrow into it's head. When she freed her arrow, the wight fell to the ground.  
A wight charged at Sandor, who slammed the hammer into the ice, making the creature fall through. Even if they were taking wights down with great speed, there were too many of them. Sandor dropped the hammer, pulling an axe from his furs. He began hacking through wights. Tormund swung madly with his battle axe, shouting with each hit.  
Emmelyne saw Jon be grabbed by a wight. Jorah came up behind, stabbing it roughly in the skull before throwing it to the ground. The pair continued swinging their swords. Tormund let out a shout as one grabbed him around the neck. He thrashed free, throwing it and killing it quickly. It was complete anarchy, and Emmelyne was losing arrows faster than she could count. Some of the wights attempted to free the captive, but Jon took care of them. One of the wildlings was pulled off of the rock and into the water.  
Emmelyne looked into her quiver, seeing only three arrows remaining. "Shit," she whispered.  
"Fall back!" Jon roared.  
Everyone froze, looking around. "Fall back!" he repeated.  
"Come on!" Tormund urged.  
A wight grabbed onto him, and he grappled with it for a few seconds before hitting in the face with his axe. As soon as he tried to get away, however, he was surrounded by the creatures. They clung onto him, not letting go. Jorah saw, and he started to go to him, only to be distracted by wights in front of him.  
The wights took Tormund to the ground. He screamed, trying to free himself from their grips. "Help me!"  
One wight got the better of him, it's jaws snapping inches away from his face. Two more wights burst up from the water, grabbing at his ankles and starting to drag him. He threw the wight off him, kicking at the two in the water. But more circled him on land. He kept screaming as they pulled him nearer to the edge of the rock. Sandor ran ahead, knocking back two of the wights on land. He grabbed Tormund's shoulders, pulling him back. He was able to free Tormund from them. The wildling stumbled back onto his feet.  
The wights kept coming, and they all kept fighting. Emmelyne finally fired her last arrow, and she fell back, moving away from the bulk of the fighting. She had only brought her bow and arrows. She had no sword or knife to continue fighting. Jon was trying to drag their captive. Wights tried to stop him, but they were killed instantly. There were too many of them. Emmelyne knew that. Another wildling fell from the side of the rock, and was torn into quickly.  
This was when Emmelyne gave up. She closed her eyes, balling her hands into tight fists, digging her fingernails into her palms. A few short breaths escaped her. When she opened her eyes again, she moved to the edge of the rock, staring down at the wights. She ran her thumb along the red mark on her hand. Something about Drogon, something about her, something magic, had left that mark. Emmelyne, without even trying, had burned people. Perhaps if she was trying now...  
She straightened her hand, keeping her palm pointed at the wights. She watched as the small tornado of fire appeared, twisting in her palm. It needed to be stronger, larger. The more she thought about this, the larger the flame grew. It shifted from the spiral into a straight beam of fire. She continued to focus, and finally, it burst out. The flames hit a circle of wights, who died screaming. She tried to create more fire, but couldn't. Every inch of her being was drained. She pulled her hand back, sighing softly to herself. Her breathing slowed, and she fell back once more. The wights were climbing onto the rock.  
And then there was a screech from above.  
Emmelyne looked up, her eyes landing on Drogon, who held Daenerys on his back. Rhaegal and Viserion followed. Drogon let out a burst of fire, creating a long path in the ice. Wights either burned or fell through the ice. Viserion and Rhaegal joined in, releasing bursts of bright flame. They were saved. Emmelyne let out a cheer, starting to laugh wildly. She couldn't help herself. She felt Sandor taking her arm, and they all watched the wights die. Emmelyne raised her hand and saw that the tiny tornado was back. She closed it in her fist, knowing that she wasn't needed now.  
Daenerys lowered Drogon to the ground, allowing him to settle beside the rock. Sandor released Emmelyne, picking up the wight. Everyone lowered as Drogon moved, breathing fire on the wights behind them. Jon was the first to run forward, reaching up to climb the dragon. Daenerys smiled, reaching down to help him. But he didn't take her hand. He turned back, attacking an advancing wight. "Go!" he urged the others.  
They all began to climb onto Drogon's back, Emmelyne shaking as she attempted to find footholds.  
On his cliff, one of the white walkers handed a sharp spear made of ice to the Night King. "Jon!" Jorah shouted.  
They all stared at Jon, who was killing the wights that surrounded him. "Jon, please! Come back!" Emmelyne cried, but he would not listen.  
The Night King moved to the edge of the cliff, walking, unfazed, through smoldering wights corpses. He brought his arm back, aiming his spear.  
Everyone was on Drogon now except for Jon. Daenerys stared at him, a fearful look in her eyes.  
The Night King focused his gaze on Viserion, who was coming around the rock. And then he threw the spear.  
Viserion exploded in a burst of blood and fire. He attempted to keep flying, blood pouring out from behind him like a demented ribbon. Drogon and Rhaegal roared angrily. Daenerys's eyes went wide.  
The white dragon hit the ice screeching, his blood draining into the water as he broke through. "No," Emmelyne whispered.  
His head lie on the ice. His wings stopped flapping. His bright green eyes closed. Viserion died. His claws scratched at the ice as he slid into the water and disappeared. Everyone went completely stiff. Daenerys stared at the hole in the ice, her expression slack. She was completely shocked. Drogon and Rhaegal continued to roar. Emmelyne was the first to escape from her daze. She began to climb from Drogon's back. "No!" Sandor shouted at her, reaching down and grabbing her wrist.  
"I have to try!" she screamed. "I have to try! Let me try to revive him!"  
Tormund turned quickly, grabbing Emmelyne as well. "Please," she begged. "I have to! I have to help. Just... just please, let me try."  
She began to cry then. She went entirely limp, allowing Tormund and Sandor to pull her back onto the dragon.  
Another white walker handed the Night King a spear. "Go!" Jon shouted at the group.  
Daenerys looked back at him. He began to run toward them, still shouting. "Go now! Leave!"  
Two wights suddenly leaped on him. The three bodies crashed through the ice. Emmelyne screamed. "Jon!"  
The Night King came forward again with his spear. Daenerys reacted quickly, forcing Drogon up into the air. The force of the dragon's wings threw a herd of wights backwards. Drogon kicked off of a rock, flying straight up. The Night King threw his spear, but Drogon avoided it barely. Jorah let out a shout suddenly, falling from the side. Tormund reacted fast, grabbing Jorah's wrist tightly. As they flew, Daenerys looked back into the masses of wights on the lake. When she looked ahead again, a few tears fell down her face. Emmelyne stared back, letting out a weak sob. "Jon," she whispered.  
Silence surrounded her, and she let out a sigh. He was gone.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Cold

When they reached Eastwatch, Emmelyne walked with Sandor, Beric, and Tormund. Sandor carried the wight, throwing it down into a boat. He looked back, nodding to Tormund, who nodded in return. "We'll meet again, Clegane," Beric said.  
"Fucking hope not," Sandor replied, starting to climb into the boat.  
"Just wait a moment, Sandor," Emmelyne spoke up.  
She looked pointedly at Beric and Tormund. They seemed to get the message, wandering away.  
Drogon flew overhead, screeching still. Sandor barely looked at Emmelyne. "It's good to see you, after all these years," she said. "I've missed you."  
He nodded stiffly.  
"Why won't you speak to me?" she asked. "Out there, you couldn't stop being kind to me. Why are you being..." she didn't know how to explain him in this moment.  
He looked up finally. "You're going to go back to Winterfell soon. You'll be with your noble knight, and I'll be forgotten."  
She shook her head. "No, you won't. I'm still going to be seeing you. I'm going to be meeting with Cersei, and so are you. We'll be on the ship together to go to King's Landing. You won't be forgotten, I promise."  
"I'll be forgotten the minute you return to Winterfell."  
"You won't, Sandor."  
"How long until you'll be having your baby?"  
"Five or so months."  
"Are you going to tell your knight?"  
"He's not my knight. He's to be betrothed."  
Sandor let out a humorless chuckle. "How many men have you been with since you left me?"  
"I don't understand why- - " she began.  
"How many?"  
"Three."  
"Exactly. You forget people, Emmelyne. You don't attach to anyone. You don't... you don't feel anything."  
She stared at him, biting her lip. "Why are you being like this?"  
"Because it's the truth," he stated.  
"I do feel things. I hide what I feel. I don't... I don't always know what I'm feeling, but I know I'm feeling."  
"Does this have a point?"  
"I feel something for you."  
There was that harsh chuckle again. "Really? And what exactly is that?"  
Emmelyne stiffened slightly. "Sandor, I... I love you."  
He froze. "What?"  
"I love you."  
Sandor turned at that. "You don't even know what love is."  
Emmelyne managed a weak smile. She took a few steps toward him, taking his hand gently. "Let yourself be loved," she encouraged.  
She leaned close, kissing him on the cheek. "Goodbye for the moment."  
"Goodbye for the moment," he echoed.  
She paused before kissing him again, this time on the lips. He kissed her back, allowing her to press herself to his chest. They didn't know how long they stood like that, Emmelyne entwined in Sandor's arms. When they broke away, Emmelyne was breathless. She smiled, looking down at the ground. Sandor hesitated before speaking again. "I love you, too, Emmelyne."  
That was when Emmelyne heard a horn blowing, followed by a shout. "Riders approaching!"  
Sandor offered her a smile before climbing into his boat.  
The rider was Jon. Badly frostbitten and barely able to move, but alive, nonetheless. Davos and a servant stripped him of his wet clothes. Daenerys stood in the doorway, watching as Jon's furs came away, revealing the deep scars that still remained from his death.  
In another cabin on the ship, Emmelyne lay in her bed. It had been hours since she fell through the ice, but her clothes still felt cold and damp on her body. The blankets were pulled tightly around her small form, and every breath released mist. Her core heat had vanished, and she lay shaking. She wondered briefly if this was how southerners felt when visiting Winterfell, but decided that she was far colder than they could ever be. There was a knock at the door, and she turned over in the bed. "Come in," she said.  
The door opened to reveal Sandor. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking her over.  
"Cold," she murmured.  
He nodded at that. "I see."  
She sat up slightly, keeping the blanket pulled tightly around herself. "What did you want?" she asked.  
"I was just checking on you."  
"Well, I'm all right. Just cold."  
He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. Emmelyne smiled slightly when he sat beside her. "I'll sit with you," he said. "If you want."  
"I want you to," she replied.  
Sandor brought his legs up onto the bed, laying back beside Emmelyne. She moved closer to him, resting her head on his chest. It wasn't long before she fell asleep.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: A Look Back

They had reached King's Landing. Everyone had amassed on the deck of the ship, except for Sandor. He was below deck, checking on the wight. It had been moved into a crate, a collar and a chain keeping it from going too far once the crate was opened.  
Below the deck, it was dark. Sandor held the lantern close to his face, slowly stepping toward the crate. He hesitated, starting to hit the box with his knuckles. The wight went wild, thrashing madly in the box and screeching as loud as it could. He stepped back, making his way up the ladder.  
On the deck, Emmelyne was leant on her elbows. She stared out at the Red Keep, sighing softly.  
They left the boat, making way for the Dragonpit. Green trees surrounded them, something Emmelyne hadn't seen since she'd left the Riverlands with Melisandre. "Why did they build it?" Missandei asked, speaking of the Dragonpit.  
"Dragons don't understand the difference between what is there's and what isn't," Jorah replied. "Land, livestock, children... letting them roam free around a city was a problem."  
"I imagine it was a sad joke at the end," Tyrion said. "An entire arena for a few sickly creatures smaller than dogs. But in the beginning, when it was home to Balerion the Dread, it must have been the most dangerous place in the world."  
Emmelyne saw Lannister colors coming around a corner. She noted a man she had met briefly in King's Landing leading the Lannister soldiers. He was friends with Tyrion, and his name was Bronn. "Maybe it still is," Davos said when he took all the soldiers in.  
Both parties came to a stop. "Welcome, my lords," Bronn said. "Your friends arrived before you did."  
He waved his hand in the direction of Brienne and Podrick. Emmelyne assumed that Sansa had sent them. "I've been sent to escort you all to the meeting," Bronn continued.  
Beside Emmelyne, Sandor's eyes widened. Brienne stared at him, confusion evident on her face. Bronn waved his hand again, and the Lannister soldiers parted to form a path. Tyrion nodded to the Dothraki that surrounded their party, and they began walking once more. Emmelyne remained beside Sandor. Podrick and Tyrion stopped, speaking to each other. Bronn was smiling when he spoke to Tyrion. "Come on! You can suck his magic cock later."  
The Lannister man beside Emmelyne and Sandor glanced back at the crate. "What's in there?" he asked.  
"Fuck off," Sandor stated.  
Brienne looked back, stopping as Sandor and Emmelyne caught up to her. "I thought you were dead," she said to Sandor.  
"Not yet," he replied. "You came pretty close."  
"I was only trying to protect her."  
"You and me both."  
"She's alive. Arya."  
"Where?" Sandor asked.  
"Winterfell," Brienne answered.  
Emmelyne smiled at the dirt. Arya was home. She was with Bran, Rickon, and Sansa. Sandor and Brienne continued speaking. "Who's protecting her if you're here?" Sandor asked.  
"The only one that needs protecting is the one that gets in her way."  
Sandor smiled at that statement. "It won't be me," he said.  
Brienne smiled as well. Emmelyne felt Sandor take her hand. "Seems I got pretty good at protecting Stark girls," he said softly to her.  
Emmelyne rolled her eyes mockingly. "Don't let it get to your head," she teased.  
Sandor stopped with the cart, patting the horse that pulled it. "Anyone touches it, I'll kill you first," he stated, waving a hand toward the cart.  
He walked up to the Dragonpit, falling in step with Emmelyne.  
It was giant. The walls had begun to crumble, but it was an impressive structure nonetheless. Everyone filed inside, looking around the spacious arena. Lannister banners were set up on every turn. Emmelyne grew tired of the bright red and gold quickly. Bronn stepped up onto the large platform, waving his hands toward the chairs. He took Podrick's shoulder, leading him off to a tavern.  
Silence fell over them all. All of them except for Sandor. "I left this shit city because I didn't want to die in it," he said to Tyrion. "Am I going to die in this shit city?"  
"You might," Tyrion replied bluntly.  
"And this is all your idea. Seems every bad idea has some Lannister cunt behind it."  
"And some Clegane cunt to help them see it through."  
Footsteps sounded, and Sandor took a few steps back. His brother, Gregor, came into the arena. Cersei was at his side, and at least a dozen knights backed her. Jaime Lannister was there, along with two other men that Emmelyne did not know, one older and one younger. And judging by the way Theon was looking at the younger one, this was his uncle, Euron Greyjoy.  
Euron was intimidating. He was dressed all in black leather. His blue eyes were hooded heavily by their lids. His dark hair was cut short. At his hip was a sword, which Emmelyne noted was never far from his grip.  
Tyrion stepped away from the edge of the platform, joining Daenerys's group.  
Cersei had not changed very much from the last time Emmelyne had seen her. She still walked with confidence, and her face still held it's pride. Her hair was changed, however. Instead of it's intricate braided styles, it was cut short. A silver crown rested on her golden hair.  
Jaime and Brienne locked eyes, but said nothing to each other.  
Euron looked up at Theon, smirking slightly.  
Cersei's group sat down in their chairs. Sandor stepped forward, staring at Gregor, who's face was hidden beneath his helmet. "Remember me?" Sandor asked. "Yeah, you do. You're even fucking uglier than I am now. What did they do to you? Doesn't matter. That's not how it ends for you, brother. You know who's coming for you. You've always known."  
Sandor stepped away, going to retrieve the crate. Emmelyne felt awkward without him beside her. She moved her hands anxiously, before allowing them to settle on her stomach. "Where is she?" Cersei asked, speaking of Daenerys.  
"She'll be here soon," Tyrion replied.  
"Didn't travel with you?"  
"No."  
Cersei looked at Brienne, who's gaze was fixated on Jaime. The queen looked at Jaime next.  
The sound of the dragon's screeching echoed overhead. Every one stood, moving to loo at the sky. Daenerys flew down on Drogon's back, Rhaegal following.  
It was time.


	17. Chapter Seventeen: The Great War

Drogon settled on the walls of the Dragonpit, Rhaegal circling overhead. Daenerys climbed from the dragon's back, her gaze locking Cersei's. Drogon flew back up into the sky, the force of his wings forcing up clouds of dust. Emmelyne smiled at the creature, though she knew he could not see her.  
Daenerys stepped up onto the platform. Everyone returned to their seats. It seemed the only one who hadn't stood was Cersei, who was eying Daenerys carefully. "We've been here for some time," she finally said to the mother of dragons.  
"My apologies," Daenerys replied.  
A heavy silence fell over the two parties. Daenerys looked at Tyrion, who stood slowly. "We are all facing unique- -" he began.  
"Theon!" Euron interrupted. "I have your sister. If you don't submit to me here, now... I'll kill her."  
Tyrion looked at Jaime, obviously confused by Euron's presence. But Jaime just shook his head, allowing Tyrion to continue. "I think we ought to begin with larger concerns," he said.  
"Then why are you talking?" Euron asked, standing. "You're the smallest concern here."  
"Do you remember when we discussed dwarf jokes?" Tyrion asked Theon.  
Theon nodded to Euron with a shrug. "His wasn't even good," he stated.  
"He explained it at the end," Tyrion nodded. "Never explain. It always ruins it."  
But Euron was not deterred. He stepped up to Tyrion, staring down at him. "We don't even let your kind live in the Iron Islands, you know?" he asked. "We kill you at birth. An act of mercy from the parents."  
"Perhaps you ought to sit down," Jaime stated.  
"Why?" Euron replied, not looking away from Tyrion.  
"Sit down or leave," Cersei added.  
Gregor stepped closer to the Greyjoy. This seemed to get the point across, and Euron returned to his seat beside Cersei. He laughed as he did so.  
Tyrion began speaking once more. "We are a group of people who do not like one another, as this recent demonstration has shown. We have suffered at each other's hands. We have lost people we love at each other's hands. If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no need for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war against each other without meeting face-to-face," he said.  
"So instead, we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days?" Cersei interjected.  
"We all know that will never happen," Tyrion replied.  
"Then why are we here?"  
Jon rose from his seat. He stepped toward Cersei. "This isn't about living in harmony," he said. "It's just about living. The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you can't negotiate with. An army that doesn't leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me a million people live in this city. They're about to become a million more soldiers in the Army of the Dead."  
"I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement," Cersei said with a small smile.  
Jon stepped closer still. "This is serious. I wouldn't be here if it weren't."  
Cersei shrugged. "I don't think it's serious at all. I think it's another bad joke. If my brother Jaime has informed me correctly, you're asking me for a truce."  
"Yes," Daenerys spoke up. "That's all."  
Cersei smiled. "That's all? Pull back my armies and stand down while you go on your monster hunt. Or while you solidify and expand your position. Hard for me to know which it is with my armies pulled back until you return and march on _my_ capital with four times the men."  
"Your capital will be safe until the northern threat is dealt with. You have my word."  
"The word of a would be usurper."  
Tyrion stepped in before the conversation could grow worse. "There is no conversation that will erase the last fifty years," he said to everyone, before turning to address Cersei. "We have something to show you."  
Sandor came up from the underground pit, carrying the crate on his back. He set it down, and began unlatching it. He took of the top finally, stepping back anxiously.  
Nothing.  
Nothing happened.  
Sandor's hand moved to the sword on his hip.  
Silence fell over everyone once more.  
Sandor hesitated, kicking the box over onto it's side.  
That did it.  
The wight sprang to action, letting out a loud screech. Cersei stiffened in her chair, pulling herself further away.  
The wight got to it's feet, charging at Cersei with alarming speed. It came only a foot away from her face before it's chain stopped. It continued fighting the restraint, reaching out for Cersei. Sandor pulled the chain back harshly, sending the creature sprawling onto it's back. Jaime and the other Lannister knights reacted quickly, stepping up to block Cersei.  
The wight stood, it's blue eyes locking on Sandor. Sandor drew his sword as the wight ran at him, and he sliced it in half.  
The torso and head of the wight still continued moving, snarling and screeching. It dragged itself with it's arms.  
The other man that had come with Cersei stood.  
He was old, and dressed in black maester's robes. On these robes was the hammered symbol that marked him Hand of the Queen. His white hair was short, and his face was shaven. He had a kind face and brown eyes. But Emmelyne still got a bad feeling from him.  
He stared at the wight with amazement.  
Once it got too close to Sandor, he swung his sword once more, chopping it's hand off.  
The man in maester's robes took the hand in his own, watching the fingers bend and curl. He seemed... impressed.  
Jon stepped toward him, taking the hand away. Davos moved to Jon's side, handing him a torch and igniting it. "We can destroy them by burning them," Jon said, burning the hand as he said this.  
He dropped the smoldering flesh, turning toward the still moving torso and head. "And we can destroy them with dragonglass."  
He pulled a dragonglass dagger from his furs. "If we don't win this fight," he continued, "then that is the fate of every person in the world."  
Jon lowered, taking the wight by the arm and plunging the dagger into it's skull, killing it. He stepped up to Cersei. "There is only one more that matters- - the Great War. And it is here."


	18. Chapter Eighteen: A Mother's Love

Daenerys was the one who spoke up next. "I didn't believe until I saw them," she said. "I saw them all."  
"How many?" Jaime asked.  
"A hundred thousand, at least."  
His eyes widened at that.  
Euron stood suddenly, starting to talk off the platform. He lowered in front of the dead wight, staring at it. "Can they swim?" he asked.  
"No," Jon replied.  
"Good."  
He stood, looking over at Cersei. "I'm taking the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands," he stated.  
"What are you talking about?" Cersei demanded.  
"I've been around the world. I've seen everything, things you couldn't imagine, and this... this is the only thing I've ever seen that terrifies me."  
He turned, stepping up to Daenerys. "I'm going back to my island. You should go back to yours," he said. "When winter's over, we'll be the only ones left alive."  
He glanced at Emmelyne. "Hopefully you'll stay on that island."  
And then he left the Dragonpit, everyone watching him as he went.  
"He's right to be afraid," Cersei spoke up. "And a coward to run. If those things come for us, there will be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we suffered will have been for nothing. Everything we lost will have been for nothing. The crown accepts your truce. Until the dead are defeated, they are the true enemy."  
Jon let out a sigh. Emmelyne wasn't sure if it was relief, or if he was letting out a breath he'd been holding. "In return," Cersei continued, "the King in the North will extend this truce. He will remain in the North where he belongs. He will not take up arms against the Lannisters. He will not choose sides."  
"Just the King in the North?" Daenerys asked.  
Cersei just smiled.  
"Not me?" Daenerys pressed.  
Cersei chuckled. "I would never ask it of you. You would never agree to it. And if you did, I would trust you less than I do now. I ask it only of Ned Stark's son. I know Ned Stark's son will be true to his word."  
Jon looked at Davos. At Emmelyne. Daenerys. And then back at Cersei. "I am true to my word," he said. "Or I try to be. That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two queens. And I have already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen."  
Daenerys's eyes went wide. Everyone else shifted in their seats.  
Cersei began to stand. "Then there is nothing left to discuss. The dead will come north first. Enjoy dealing with them. We will deal with whatever is left of you."  
She started walking away, looking at Emmelyne. "Lady Stark. I'd like to speak with you. Follow me."  
Emmelyne looked at Jon, but Cersei continued. "Don't hesitate. Just come with me."  
Emmelyne rose from her chair, looking at Sandor anxiously before following Cersei. Behind them, Jaime and Brienne were speaking. Cersei stopped, watching them for a moment. But she turned away just as quickly, leading Emmelyne along.  
Cersei led Emmelyne to her chambers. She closed the door behind them, green eyes locking with gray. "Emmelyne Stark," she said. "It has been a long time."  
"Five years, I believe," Emmelyne replied.  
"You're, what, twenty-three now?"  
"Yes."  
Cersei chuckled lowly. "Twenty-three. Noble. Pregnant."  
Emmelyne stiffened. "How can you tell?"  
"A mother's intuition. Pregnancy suits you well."  
Emmelyne didn't answer.  
Cersei had begun to circle her. Like a lion stalking its prey. But Emmelyne was a wolf. She was not prey, and she refused to let Cersei taunt her. "Who's the father?" Cersei pressed. "Sandor? I'd love to see what kind of a creature a pretty little thing like you and an ugly beast like he could create. Or is the father lowborn?"  
"Why do you care?" Emmelyne snapped, and Cersei chuckled again.  
"It's been years since I've seen you, Emmelyne. I want to know what kind of person you are now. What kind of people you attract. I knew you when you were sixteen, seventeen, and for some of when you were eighteen. But you've clearly changed. You're not the foolish little girl that I knew."  
Emmelyne lowered her head, not speaking. But Cersei continued. "So, Emmelyne, who's the father?"  
"Not Sandor. Not lowborn," she said.  
"Really? Highborn, then? Lord? Knight?"  
"A knight."  
"Noble birth?"  
"Yes."  
Cersei smiled slightly. "Do you plan on marrying him?"  
Emmelyne bit down on her lip. "No."  
"I'd assume someone northern. But I don't think that's the case."  
"He's from the Vale."  
"An Arryn knight?"  
"Yes."  
"What house?"  
Emmelyne didn't like all of these questions. But she knew Cersei would be angry if she didn't answer them. "House Waynwood."  
Cersei nodded. "You remind me of myself when I was young," she told Emmelyne. "Highborn, lovely, pregnant. I was twenty-one when I had Joffrey, only two years younger than you are now. I was twenty-seven when I had Myrcella, and I was twenty-eight when I had Tommen. A mother should never love anything more than her children. Her first child, especially."  
The queen chuckled softly to herself. "Mothers are never supposed to have favorites," she said. "But we do. We always do. Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella, all of them were my children and I loved them so. But Joffrey was my first born. He was my beautiful little lion. He was my golden-haired beauty. I was so pleased when he was born. Jaime's through and through."  
"Joffrey was a heartless bastard who took pleasure in seeing the people around him suffer," Emmelyne stated.  
Cersei sighed, looking at the floor for a moment. "Joffrey... was a... cruel young man. A mother's love can see past that, you learn. You learn to see past all of your children's flaws. I suppose... I always knew that Joffrey was not all good. They call it Targaryen Madness. Children born of incest. Born mad. That little claimant queen you're with, the Mother of Dragons. She's the Mad King's daughter. It's only a matter of time before the madness seeps through the cracks."  
She chuckled once more, and stopped circling Emmelyne. "How have you found yourself supporting the daughter of the man who murdered your grandfather and uncle?" Her lips were turned up in a slight smile. "You have to know what Aerys did to them. Suspended your grandfather above the throne room and- -"  
"Shut up!" Emmelyne cried.  
Cersei froze, her green eyes widening at the sudden outburst. She regained her composure quickly, however, and her smile grew. "There it is. There's the wildness I always saw in you. I liked that about you when you were younger. I suppose Sandor did, too."  
"Leave me be."  
"You're free to leave whenever you wish, Emmelyne. But you don't to. I can see it. You want to speak to me."  
And Cersei was right. Emmelyne knew this.  
Cersei took a few steps closer. "Who else knows about your pregnancy?"  
"Sandor," Emmelyne replied.  
"I see. It's all a big secret, then? I suppose I can understand that. Only two people know I'm pregnant."  
"What?"  
Cersei shrugged, her smile fading a bit. "I'm pregnant, too, wild girl."  
 _Three for you._  
A voice began to echo in Emmelyne's mind. She closed her eyes.  
 _There was a girl. Blonde, young, only around thirteen or so. With the prideful face and the green eyes, Emmelyne was sure that this was Cersei. There was another girl at Cersei's side. She was a lovely girl, with black hair.  
Cersei was staring at a woman. She had light brown hair and dark eyes. "The king will have twenty children and you will have three. Gold will be their crowns... gold their shrouds," the fortune-teller said._  
When Emmelyne returned to reality, Cersei was watching her. "You've seen something. What is it?"  
"The king will have twenty children," Emmelyne said softly, "and you will have three. Gold will be their crowns... gold their shrouds."  
Cersei looked crestfallen. She attempted to hide this with a smile, but it was no use. She looked at the floor, and then back at Emmelyne. "Maggy the Frog. She said that I'd marry the king. That came true. She said that I'd have three children that died. That came true, too. But one of her predictions hasn't come true. A queen more beautiful than I will take all I hold dear and steal my kingdom."  
She let out a rueful chuckle. "I thought it was Margaery Tyrell. I killed that grinning little bitch from Highgarden. For a time, I thought it was you. Joffrey liked you. He wanted to put aside his marriage with Sansa and wed you in her place. You're a lovely girl, I suppose. Joffrey would've immediately withdrawn from me. It could've even been Sansa, but she's not fit to be a queen. She wouldn't win a fight against me. Now, it seems, it may be this Daenerys Targaryen. I'm waiting for her final prediction to come true."  
Emmelyne bit her lip once more.  
Cersei let out a sigh, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her dress. "You may leave. Join that crew of northerners and your Clegane."  
"He's not mine," Emmelyne said.  
Cersei managed another smile. "Oh," she said. "But he is."


	19. Chapter Nineteen: True Love

When Emmelyne returned to the Dragonpit, it was quiet. Tyrion broke the silence, looking up at her. "Do you think Cersei would be pleased if I went to her?" he asked.  
Emmelyne shrugged her shoulders. "I can't measure the queen's patience, but I know it's surely waning."  
Tyrion looked at the dirt, then brushed past Emmelyne, leaving the Dragonpit. Emmelyne clasped her hands together behind her back, letting out a low sigh. She was quite surprised at Cersei's demeanor. At first glance, it would've appeared that she hadn't changed at all in the five years since Emmelyne had been gone. But it seemed that losing her children had truly changed something inside her.  
Sandor moved toward Emmelyne's side, looking down at her. "What did you and Cersei speak about?" he asked.  
"Children," Emmelyne replied. "Pregnancy. Madness. And Cersei when she was younger."  
"Did you enjoy that?"  
"No. Cersei is... interesting, to say the least. She truly believed that Joffrey could do nothing wrong."  
Sandor's eyes went wide at that. "Really? How in the fuck could she believe that?"  
"I don't know," Emmelyne answered. "She says that a mother can look past all of her children's flaws. Only see the good in them. I suppose I'll only understand that once my child is born."  
"Five months."  
"Five months."  
Sandor took her hand, and she leaned against his side. "You promise I won't be forgotten?" he asked.  
"I promise, Sandor," she said.  
Emmelyne let her head rest on his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered.  
"I love you, too," Sandor replied.  
Nearby, Jon was watching the pair. He was happy for Emmelyne. She was finally with Sandor, who she'd already admitted that she loved. But Jon couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy in his chest.  
Emmelyne allowed her free hand to move to her stomach. She noted to herself that it was growing rather fast. Perhaps too fast. When Catelyn was four months pregnant with Rickon, her stomach was not this large. Not with Bran, or Arya, or Sansa, either. She hoped that it was not a problem. That her child was just large. She knew that people could be massive. People like Sandor. Gregor. Hodor.  
She took in a deep breath that she didn't release for a long time. Emmelyne felt Sandor squeeze her hand comfortingly.  
Everyone suddenly went quiet when Tyrion returned. They all gathered onto the platform, waiting for him to speak. Cersei followed, her maester, Jaime, The Mountain, and her guards still at her sides. Daenerys's group went stiff. "My armies will not stand down," Cersei stated. "I will not pull them back to the capital. I will march them north to fight alongside you in the Great War. The darkness is coming for us all. We'll face it together. And when the Great War is over, perhaps you'll remember I chose to help with no promises or assurances from any of you. I expect not."  
She looked at Jaime. "Call our banners," she stated. "All of them."  
Back at Dragonstone, everyone was meeting to look over plans. "If we have the Dothraki ride hard on the kingsroad, they'll arrive at Winterfell within the fortnight," Jon said.  
"And the Unsullied?" Daenerys replied.  
"We can sail with them to White Harbor, meet the Dothraki here on the kingsroad, then ride together to Winterfell."  
"Perhaps you should ride to Winterfell, Your Grace," Jorah said. "You have many enemies in the North. Thousands fell fighting your father. All it takes is one angry man with a crossbow. He'll see your silver hair on the kingsroad and know that one well-placed bolt will make him a hero. The man who killed the conqueror."  
"It's your decision, Your Grace," Jon offered Daenerys. "But if we're going to be allies in this war, it's important for the Northerners to see us as allies. If we sail to White Harbor together, I think it sends a better message."  
Emmelyne agreed with Jon. She did not speak up, but she certainly agreed.  
There was a man that she did not know. The leader of the Unsullied. Dark skin. Bald, with dark eyes. He held himself with pride, not saying a word, simply observing.  
Silence fell over the group for a moment, waiting for Daenerys to answer. "I've not come to conquer the North," she finally said. "I'm coming to save the North. We sail together."  
Emmelyne smiled at Daenerys. Though she had not liked the Mother of Dragons at first, she seemed kinder than she was before.  
Emmelyne left the map room with Jon and Davos, suddenly hearing footsteps behind them. "Jon, Emmelyne," Theon said. "Can I speak with you both?"  
Jon let out a sigh. "All right," he said.  
"Yes," Emmelyne agreed.  
Davos nodded, turning and leaving the throne room. Theon stepped toward the pair. "What you did in King's Landing, Jon, what you said... you could've lied to Cersei about bending the knee to Daenerys. You risked everything to tell an enemy the truth," he said.  
Jon shook his head slightly. "We went down there to make peace. And it seems to me we need to be honest with each other if we're going to fight together."  
"You've always known what was right. Even when we were all young and stupid, you always knew. Every step you take... it's always the right step. "  
"It's not. It may seem that way from the outside, but I promise you, it's not true. I've done plenty of things that I regret."  
Theon shook his head. "Not compared to me, you haven't."  
"No," Jon agreed. "Not compared to you."  
Theon hesitated for a long time. He opened and closed his mouth, choosing his words carefully. He took a few more steps forward. "I always wanted to do the right thing," he said. "Be the right kind of person. But I never knew what that meant. It always seemed like there's... like there was an impossible choice I had to make. Stark or Greyjoy."  
Jon closed the distance between, and they were nearly chest-to-chest. Emmelyne, fearing that Jon was going to hurt Theon, grabbed his arm tightly.  
"Our father was more of a father to you than yours ever was," Jon stated.  
"He was," Theon nodded."  
"And you betrayed him. Betrayed his memory."  
"I did."  
Jon let out a sigh. "But you never lost him," he said. "He's a part of you. Just like he's a part of me."  
"But the things I've done..." Theon said.  
"It's not my place to forgive you for all of it," Jon said. "But what I can forgive, I do. You don't need to choose. You're a Greyjoy... and you're a Stark."  
Theon swallowed. "When I was Ramsay's prisoner, Yara tried to save me. She's the only one who tried to save me."  
He sniffled before continuing. "She needs me now."  
"So, why are you still talking to me?" Jon joked.  
Jon left the room, leaving Emmelyne and Theon. Emmelyne offered him a smile. "Do you remember the last time we spoke? Truly, spoke," she said.  
"I believe that was six years ago. The night of King Robert's feast," Theon nodded.  
"I offended you completely. I want to apologize for how I was when I was younger."  
Theon shook his head at that. "No," he said. "I was much worse than you. I was a complete ass."  
Emmelyne let out a chuckle. "You were," she agreed. "But you aren't now. Go and save your sister."  
There was a moment's hesitation before the pair embraced. They shared one more smile before Emmelyne left him in the throne room.  
On the ship toward White Harbor, Sandor found himself at Emmelyne's door. He didn't know why he was there, and he knew he'd need to decide quickly. He rapped his knuckles on the door, hearing shuffling on the other side. Emmelyne opened it, smiling at Sandor. "Hello," she greeted.  
"Hello," he replied.  
"What did you want?"  
"Do I have to want something every time I visit you?"  
"No," she chuckled. "I just can't imagine anyway ever just wanting to enjoy my presence."  
Sandor smiled. "You already know that I enjoy your presence."  
She paused, reaching out and taking his hand. Sandor stepped into the room, allowing Emmelyne to close the door behind them. She pressed her lips to his, pulling him back toward her bed. She laughed when he picked her up around the middle, pinning her to the blankets.  
Emmelyne was truly and literally in love. It was strange to admit that. Strange to think that she'd fallen in love with a man she once had feared. But it was true. Emmelyne loved Sandor Clegane.


	20. Chapter Twenty: Lucan

Emmelyne lie in her bed, curled up with her legs under her chin. She had moved away from Sandor, who was muttering quietly in his sleep. She didn't care enough to listen and figure out what he was saying.

She was cold. Bare naked and wrapped tightly in a fur blanket. Almost a foot between her and Sandor, who, if she were to move closer to him, would surely warm her.

Emmelyne rolled onto her back, letting out a long breath. She could see the mist that it left swirling in the air. Her stomach rose and fell, and she felt a slight pain. "It's all right, little one," she murmured, smoothing her hand over the slight curve that was beginning to form.

Across from her, Sandor stirred in his sleep. She looked over at him, a small smile playing at her lips. He looked content. At peace, for what was possibly the first time in his life. "I love you," she whispered to his sleeping form.

Of course, she got no response.

She hadn't had a vision in a long time. It was beginning to worry her. What if she had lost her power? It wouldn't have surprised her. She had started to feel… wrong. Like less of herself.

She closed her gray eyes, feeling her breath quicken.

 _There was a man. He looked to be about twenty. He had a kind face, a handsome face. Black hair that hung to his shoulders in waves. Deep, Stark gray eyes. For a moment, Emmelyne might've thought that he were her uncle, Brandon. But then she saw a woman._

 _With the red hair, the stern face, and the bright blue eyes, Emmelyne knew that it was Catelyn that she was seeing. But who was this man? Who was the man that looked like a Stark?_

 _He was lowered over Emmelyne, a smile on his handsome, kind face. "She's beautiful, Cat," he said._

 _Catelyn was shaking her head. "You can't be here, Lucan."_

 _"_ _Why not?"_

 _"_ _Someone will see! Someone will ask questions."_

 _The man- Lucan- laughed a deep, hearty laughed that made Emmelyne want to smile. "She looks like a Stark, Cat. No one will ask any questions."_

 _He didn't look at her as he spoke, he only continued to smile at Emmelyne. "My son has the Tully look," Catelyn stated. "Someone will notice that this child has black hair and gray eyes."_

 _He finally turned to face her, shaking his head. "Cat," he said, his tone kind and gentle. "It will be alright."_

 _Emmelyne didn't know what was happening. Who was this man? Why would people ask questions? Why was Catelyn so afraid?_

 _She wanted to wake up. But she couldn't. She just lie there, in what appeared to be a cradle. "Lucan," Catelyn said. "I can't do this."_

 _Lucan only shook his head. "She needs a name, Cat. I want to name her."_

 _"_ _No."_

 _"_ _Please."_

 _"_ _I know what you'll name her."_

 _He was smiling that too damn perfect smile again. "You were friends with her, Cat. No one will wonder, they'll understand."_

 _"_ _Emmelyne's dead!"_

 _He suddenly went rigid, a wounded look in his eyes. "Cat," he whispered._

 _She lowered her head, letting out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry. She still may be alive."_

 _Lucan turned, lifting Emmelyne from the cradle. He rocked her gently in his arms, as Catelyn only stared at him. "Never thought I'd have a daughter," he murmured. "Especially with the most beautiful woman alive."_

 _When he held Emmelyne close, she could smell his fur cloak. It smelled of smoke, of pine, and strangely… of blood._

 _"_ _When will you be going back?" Catelyn asked._

 _"_ _I have one more day at Winterfell. Then it's back to the Wall."_

 _There was a sad look on both of the pairs faces. He lowered Emmelyne gently back into the cradle, turning to face Catelyn. "Please name her after Emmelyne. It's what my sister would have wanted."_

 _She smiled weakly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "What will I get if I do?"_

 _He leaned close, letting his forehead rest against hers. "You get nothing. I get my beautiful daughter to be named after my wonderful sister."_

 _"_ _Persuade me."_

 _He licked his lips, laughing softly. "I can be very persuasive, Cat."_

 _"_ _Prove it."_

 _Lucan leaned close, pressing his lips to Catelyn's._

"Fierce one?"

 _Emmelyne watched the pair, confusion seeping through her. This was her father. She wasn't Ned's daughter._

"Em?"

 _She was a bastard. Did anyone else know this? Where was her father?_

"Emmelyne!"

She woke with a start, a gasp escaping her at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. "Shh, shh," a rough voice said.

She was shaking madly.

She looked to Sandor, tears welling in her eyes. "Emmelyne?" he asked, his tone shifting to concern.

Emmelyne didn't answer. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face to his bare chest as the tears started to fall down her face. "What's wrong, fierce one?" Sandor asked her.

"I… I…" she choked back her sobs, unable to continue speaking.

"Shh, shh. I'm sorry for asking. Shh. It's all right."

He pulled her tightly against him, letting her sob into his chest. He could feel her tears rolling down his skin. It hurt him to see his fierce one so upset. "It's all right. It's all right."

He held her like this well into the night, repeating the same three words over and over, until, finally, Emmelyne fell asleep in his arms.


End file.
